


No Work For Tinkers

by Ellie5192



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:34:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie5192/pseuds/Ellie5192
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If wishes were horses then beggars would ride, <br/>If turnips were swords I'd wear one by my side,<br/>And if "ifs" and "ands" were pots and pans,<br/>There'd be no work for tinkers"</p><p> Sequel to A Little Light Music, Sharon/Andy, follows the events of season 2.5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If Wishes Were Horses

**Author's Note:**

> Alright. You got me. I got inspired enough to do it…  
> Sequel to A Little Light Music, Sharon/Andy, follows the events of season 2.5 with each chapter corresponding to each new episode. The last chapter will be in response to the final two episodes combined. Postings may be a little fractured in this festive season, but I’ve got a plan and I’m committed. Look at what you guys bring me to. 
> 
> As always, my dedicated readers, I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think.

Chapter 1 : If Wishes Were Horses

He humphs, and slides onto the sofa, moving her outstretched legs over himself so that her knees rest over his lap as she reclines against the arm, a big pillow behind her back and her feet encased in her Ugg boots. She’s long been in her sweats, and he would really like to join her. Her hand comes up to rub at his neck – at the little hairs there – as her elbow finds purchase along the back of the sofa. He hums and pushes his head into her hand, encouraging her, and she smiles at him.

  
“I think the patrol downstairs are starting to realise something is up with us. I brought them some doughnuts for the night, and the young one – what, Torres? – she winked at me. Winked! As though I was picking up at a bar or something”

  
She chuckles at him a little bit. “Oh honey”, she sighs, patting his hair affectionately. “We both knew it’d get out some way. That’s just the price we agreed to”

  
She sounds completely unworried, as though discussing the inevitability of turning leaves in autumn. This doesn’t completely surprise him; since the increased threats of the letters, she’s been far more concerned with how Rusty is feeling, and with maintaining a decent level of security, and not about some traffic kids getting rumour-worthy gossip about senior officers. At first he thought this strange of her, but she is first and foremost a pragmatist, and if there really was a problem with his constant visits then Taylor or even Emma would have said something. That neither of them have means they don’t suspect or don’t much care, or perhaps one of each. It’s been a couple of weeks of increased security and so far not much of anything has changed.  
Still, it doesn’t displace the worry that lingers every time he walks out the door. She still won’t tell him what was in the letters addressed to her, just that she’d had worse in her years in FID and that her main concern was Rusty. He’s seen her shoot – he knows she’s as capable as him at protecting herself and the boy – but the fact he can’t move in to her place until this is finished sits like a stone in his gut. She may protect Rusty, but he wants nothing more than to protect her. She’s so worried about everyone else, that he stresses she won’t see danger to herself until it’s too late. It makes him angry, and more than once she’s had to pull him out of a bad mood.

  
But tonight he’s just very tired after having been the first to a scene early that morning and run off his feet ever since. He groans again as her fingers start massaging his neck, and feels her sit up enough to plant a kiss against his cheek.

  
“You keep that up and I’ll fall asleep right here” he mumbles, his eyes closed in comfort.

  
“And give young Torres more ammunition?” she asks with a smirk, her nails scrapping lightly.

  
“Like you said, they’ve got to talk about something, might as well be juicy”

  
She chuckles at him, light and soft, and then reclines back against her pillow as his hand runs up and down her calf in a motion much like her own on his neck. She hums, a contented little sound that he has come to love.

  
“I have my bag in the car, you know” he says. She makes an uncommitted noise – almost a hum, but not quite. He knows that she understands what he’s saying without him saying it. “Say the word and I’ll stay all night, Torres be damned”

  
“I know”

  
She’s been so careful with how much he’s stayed over, though really it doesn’t make a difference one way or another. At first he’d offered to not stay at all; she’d made the case that it was as good as breaking up, since they could only see each other outside of work and she was bound to stay with Rusty and keep him safe. He couldn’t stomach the idea of breaking up – or even going on a break until this was sorted – not after everything.

  
So here he sits, not sure he should stay but unwilling to leave; a cruel impasse only soothed by the surety of her touch lingering on the back of his neck, and by the weight of her legs over him. He’s not going anywhere, not for the world.

  
“I wish you’d tell me” he whispers, his eyes still closed.

  
She shakes her head to herself and lets out a silent sigh. They’ve had this conversation countless times, and each time it’s the same. She knows why he keeps pressing; knows he’s just waiting for her to crack, or to catch her in a moment of weakness.

  
Honestly, she just can’t tell him. She’s been on the other side of this – she’s been the one holding the ransom, waiting for more information, waiting to hear if he’s okay or if she’ll never see him again. She’s been the one making the tough call about an operation that could save or could kill in equal measure. To put those thought in his head, and to show him the incredibly vague and yet immensely sinister letters; to allow his already angry mind to envision the many ways this writer wants to hurt her and Rusty is something she won’t do to him.

  
If she could accept his comfort and have his shoulder, she would. But she can’t make him carry that, no matter how much she wants to. She must remain in control, for herself and for her boy down the hall. Instead she leans forward again, places a palm on his cheek, and kisses him soundly. His hand tightens where it rests on her knee, and they stay there for a long while, lips touching and half entwined.

  
Rumours be damned, he’ll be staying over tonight, and if Taylor wants to throw the book at them, so be it. If someone is going to hurt his new and tenuous family, then they’ll have to go through two armed and pissed-off cops to do it.

  
They part when they hear the tell-tale click and squeak of Rusty’s bedroom door, and listen as he pads frantically across the hall and into the bathroom. A moment later the toilet flushes and he re-emerges much more calmly, stopping in the hall. “Hi Flynn” he calls, before padding back into his room and closing the door again.

  
Andy can only laugh to himself, meeting Sharon’s shining eyes.

  
“I feel so loved” he quips.

  
“You are – that’s more than I get some days, and it’s my house”

  
He only grins at her and shakes his head. “He still not talking to you?”

  
“We’ve had words. But I’ve yet to get a full sentence out of him since I revoked television privileges after the last slip”

  
“Does he get at all why he can’t ditch his security?”

  
She shrugs and rolls her eyes while quirking her head. “I think he understands it logically. Mostly he just thinks I’m smothering him. I don’t mean to imprison him in his own home”

  
He can only grin again and pat her knee. “Well then, can you at least point me in the direction of food? I’m starving, and I haven’t eaten since lunch”  
“Poor baby” she mumbles, hoisting herself up and pulling him up too. They walk together to the kitchen and she points absently to the fridge as she sets her kettle to boil. “See what’s left over. We had pasta with meat in it, but I think there’s some veggies and eggs if you wanted to make an omelette”

  
“I’ll just have the pasta” he says quietly. She cocks an eyebrow at him and gives him a look. He only shrugs. “It’s not like I can’t eat meat, I just choose not to. One time won’t hurt”

  
“Okay” she drawls. She still looks half suspicious at him. “Just don’t go blaming me for altering your diet”

  
“Hey, I only went veg a few years ago, you’re not altering anything. And besides, my doctor thinks that it might be good to reintroduce some foods every now and then”

  
“Okay then” she says passively, calming him. She’s obviously too relaxed tonight to bother arguing, even in jest. Perhaps, he thinks, Rusty has had a good night and wasn’t bugging her so much. Perhaps she’s just in a really good headspace and doesn’t want to leave it.

  
He puts his food in the microwave and presses a few buttons as the kettle starts to hiss. She grabs a used cup from the sink, already rinsed out, and a second cup from her never-ending cupboard that he swears is made of the same stuff and Mary Poppin’s handbag, otherwise how else would she have a new mug every single day. He tells her as much and it makes her chuckle, and he takes that as a win.

  
He leans back against the bench as he watches her grab various teabags and sugar bowls from around the kitchen, oblivious to his watchful eye. This domestic Sharon is a rare creature – she often wears jeans at home, and hardly ever has her hair pulled back so haphazardly. He likes to watch her, so open and relaxed in a way she never is at work.

  
“You keep staring like that and you might set me on fire” she mutters, pouring the hot water into each mug.

  
“You set me on fire” he replies smoothly, wrapping his arms around her waist, careful to wait until the kettle is safely settled back on the stove.  
She laughs at him - scoffs really – and replies, “Oh, you are full of some lines, you really are”

  
She doesn’t resist him when he holds her tight and kisses her temple, one of her hands on his arm and the other absently dunking the teabag a few more times. They take a moment to just stand there. She feels so safe having him around. It’s disconcerting to feel such a need after half a lifetime alone. She didn’t expect to have such a fundamental part of her change when she allowed herself to let him in, but change it did. Now she can’t imagine not having someone to share these quiet and intimate moments with.

  
“I just want to wrap you up in bed and not let you out until this creep is found” he whispers into her hair. He’s lost some of the anger of before, and in its wake there is only frustration and a fair amount of vulnerability. She sighs against him. She knows what he means. It’s so annoying – really annoying –to have to carry on as though nothing is wrong when there could be any number of dangers around the corner. She wishes these threats would either come to fruition or go away; this waiting is really starting to piss her off. It’s not an enemy he can fight for her, and she knows that adds to his angst. She loves him more for taking on that worry, even though he shouldn’t have to.

  
She turns in his arms, kisses him softly, and then steps away and gestures to his tea, taking hers in the process. “Come join me on the couch before lights out”

  
He nods and follows her, and they fall onto the couch together, side by side, both flicking their feet onto the coffee table. He throws an arm around her shoulders and she sighs against him. Without the radio or television on they can hear the faint strains of Rusty’s music floating down the hall from his room. She’ll knock on his door to get him to go to bed when they do. As it is, he should be going to sleep, but she’s not about to enforce the lights-out rule in his room under the current circumstances.

  
They sip quietly at their drinks for a while, and it feels very content, despite knowing there are at least four police surrounding her building at any one time.

  
“So, has he said it again?” he asks after a while.

  
“What, Rusty?”

  
“Yeah”

  
“Said what?”

  
“You know…” he says, waving his hand about near her ear, the other still holding his cup. She takes a moment to understand his meaning, and then suddenly she’s grinning to herself, her lips pursed and her eyes shining at the happy memory. He had taken her so much by surprise that sometimes she’s sure she must have dreamt it. But she hadn’t.

  
“Not since the other day, no he hasn’t. Honestly, I don’t expect him to. That was big enough as it is without me adding pressure”

  
“Sharon, the boy adores you, and he knows what you do for him. Are you really so surprised that he told you he loves you, finally?”

  
She smiles again at the explicit mention. “Well yes, a little. At least that he said it outright. I don’t doubt his feelings; I’m just shocked that he was so open with me when he’s been clinging so hard to his mother”

  
Andy rocks her closer with his arm, and plants a kiss against her hair. “You are his mother. In every way that counts, you are his mother”

  
She hums at him with a smile. She knows that. And she knows that Rusty knows that, at least in his way. Lately she’s been thinking of him as her son – no caveats or conditions, just ‘her son’, like he’s always had that little piece of her heart. Perhaps a little bit different to Ricky, who fed at her breast and took first steps in her arms and called her ‘Da’ for a few weeks as an infant. But Rusty is her son nonetheless. She couldn’t love him more if he was her flesh and blood. It makes her feel positively giddy to know he loves her right back. Perhaps one day she’ll have the right way to show him just how much he means to her. She hopes he doesn’t think her love will end when he hits eighteen, because he doesn’t have to go anywhere, and her love for him is unconditional.  
“I wish his life was so much easier” she mutters. “-that he didn’t have to go through any of this”

  
“Everything that’s happened to that boy has led him here, to you. It’s a sacrifice, but you are worth it. You two have each other now”

  
“I can’t be grateful for the life he lived before he came to me” she says, thinking again of all the horrible details Rusty would never –could never – tell to her face, but that she knows anyway.

  
“No, maybe not. But you can at least be thankful that he’s here now”

  
“Oh I am. Believe me. This Thanksgiving all I could think was… well, you know”

  
Andy rocks her close again and nods. “Did you have any more luck with that therapy business?”

  
“I think so, I found a Dr Bowman who looks promising. He lists unconventional and ‘fun’ activities as his way of getting patients to open up. Since this is just an evaluation, if he’s willing to play chess then he might be just what Rusty is looking for”

  
“The kid up for it?”

  
“The kid doesn’t have a choice” she quips, pulling herself off the couch and taking both their mugs to the kitchen. Andy just smirks at her and shakes his head as he follows her half way and stops by the table. “I’m hoping that if these sessions go well then it might inspire him to continue to talk with someone about his past, but even if it doesn’t, I still think the evaluations can do him some good”

  
“Well, you know best” he mutters at her back as she puts the dishes in the dishwasher. She only straightens and smirks at him, then walks around the bench.

  
“So, about your bag that’s in the car…” she says, a sly look on her face.

  
“Okay, so maybe it’s that one by the door”

  
“Maybe?”

  
“And maybe I brought it up with me when I first came inside”

  
“Mmm. And how did you get inside, by the way?”

  
“I might have used the spare key you gave me when you had the locks changed”

  
She’s outright grinning at him now, walking slowly backwards towards her room with her tongue resting against her teeth. She manages to turn the lights off as she goes without missing a beat. She turns around and disappears down the hall as he collects the bag from the front door. He hears her knock on Rusty’s door, poke her head in to say goodnight, and then a moment later Rusty is at the doorway. They are speaking lowly to each other, so he can’t quite make it out, but he sees that the boy is frustrated and Sharon is understanding, and it’s probably the same conversation they’ve had a million times before.

  
She sighs, a sad little sound that Andy hears despite himself, just before she wraps her arms around Rusty’s shoulders in a protective hug. “I just wish I knew how to keep you safe” she says, and Rusty only buries his face into her shoulder, shrugging in response. They all know that if things could be different they would be – that if Sharon had another answer she would tell him and take away his burden. It’s hard enough as it is for her to contemplate option three, knowing he could be put in harm’s way.

  
They mutter a few more words to each other and she places her hand briefly on his cheek before he spins around and disappears into his room again, the door closing behind him. The music turns down a second later.

  
“So, does that mean I’m on the couch, or-”

  
She cuts him off with a firm kiss, her hand behind his neck, and takes his hand to lead him to her room, both smiling all the way. Despite the encounter in the hall she’s still in good spirits, buoyed by his presence and the security surrounding them. She pulls him lightly in the direction of her door.  
“Oh, so your room then”

  
She just chuckles at him and closes the door softly behind her as he starts kicking off his shoes. Most days now he worries about them both, but there are some select moments when he doesn’t have a single care in the world. Sharon Raydor taking her hair tie out with that particular look is one of them.

 


	2. Then Beggars Would Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. As predicted the holidays have been extraordinarily busy, and usually without my computer. Future chapters will continue to be a bit sporadic, but I’m still here, and I will finish this story, probably a couple of weeks after the last episode of the season.  
> This chapter is set immediately after 2x13 ‘Jailbait’.  
> As always, to my readers, enjoy, that’s what we’re here for, and to my reviewers, I know I don’t show you nearly enough love but know that I treasure every word that you take the time to write. You’re a gift.

**_Then beggars would ride_ **

 

“Just once I’d love for you guys to bring me a case that isn’t such an emotional clusterfuck”

Sharon smirks rather humourlessly as Andrea huffs and leans down to pick up her shoulder bag. Her office is quiet in the aftermath of this case; the detectives scattered to deal with each loose end.

Both women watch Sanchez walk out into the murder room and begin the process of packing up the board with Tao. The two of them are silent and sombre, and she can’t blame them, not really. These types of cases – the one’s where the only options are a little less justice or a little more legality – are always the hardest. Especially for a cop. And as a mother she is hurting.

“It’s never my intention to screw up your day, Andrea” she replies. Her tone is light, even if the mood is not, and Andrea smiles at her in acknowledgement.

“And for that, I am grateful. So what are you going to do about the wife and daughter?”

“I don’t believe any charges will be laid for the sucker punch, but Andy and Provenza are in with them now. We’ll get their statements and then… well, I guess we’ll have to leave them to their grief”

“It just astounds me, you know” says Andrea, setting herself right as she moves towards the door. “The lengths people go to in order to delude themselves. She actually blames the father for recognising the sins of the son? What is that?”

She’s not entirely sure how that woman thinks, so she doesn’t know what to say to explain her. “I don’t know. I’m thankful I am not in her position. But I don’t think I could ever blind myself to my son’s actions if I knew he was as much of a predator as that boy was”

“Just be grateful you’ll never have to find out”

Andrea spins on her heel and is out the door with a nod before Sharon can fully comprehend what she is saying. It might be a veiled reference to the boy just down the hall; to the fact that he’s not a monster despite all he’s been through. But she chooses to take it as a general statement, and a reassurance that none of Sharon’s children are in any way off the rails. Her comment might even be a subtle kudos on her parenting, and if it is then she’s secretly pleased. She and Andrea have always had an amenable and cooperative working relationship, and they’ve shared enough work-day lunches to have the bare bones of each other’s story. Andrea is at the very least a work friend. It’s nice to think she feels the same.

But that doesn’t mean she’s aware of Sharon’s current lover.

Oh, she’s aware something is going on - she is not so ignorant as to not see that. But any details get shut down under a feigned ruse of sheepishness; Sharon only tells her that it’s not really ready to be discussed. After this long, perhaps there is the understanding that it’s more of a sexual dalliance than a relationship. Either way Andrea always seems half amused and half pleased, especially in light of Jack’s latest visit. And no matter what she may think is happening, she doesn’t suspect that it’s with Andy, and that’s the main point.

So caught up in her daydreaming, she doesn’t notice said lover entering her office until the lock clicks behind him.

“All good?” she asks.

“All good”

If they’d needed her, they would have called. They’ve all worked together long enough now that she doesn’t feel the need to hover like she might have done in the early days.

“The kid okay with Doctor Joe?”

“I haven’t seen him yet”

“They still going? I thought it was supposed to be done an hour ago”

She hums in affirmation, but smirks just a little and looks towards the cubicle they are hiding in. She can’t see anything of course, but it helps to confirm her suspicions given neither of them have walked out. “I get the feeling – and I might be wrong – but something tells me that Rusty convinced him to stick around and try out a few games with him. He’s been starved of any decent opposition since he had to quit after-school chess club, and Doctor Joe is a formidable player”

Andy can only chuckle to himself and shake his head, pulling out the guest chair in front of her desk. He plonks down into it and eyes her with amusement. She meets his look with one of her own; she can’t stop the grin on her face, and she’s not sure why.

“How are things holding up at home?” he asks.

“The same. He’s restless, and he doesn’t fully understand the position he’s in. He thinks he does, but he doesn’t. There’s not much I can say to convince him of the seriousness of the situation, so for the moment I’m playing bad guy”

“Familiar role?”

“Like an old glove”

He grins wider at her. She keeps a subtle eye on the men out in the murder room, though nobody is paying them any attention.

“He’s just got to accept that it’s your way of the highway” says Andy with a shrug. “If life had gone a thousand different ways, he wouldn’t be here – with you, in this city, maybe even alive. He’s lucky he landed where he is, even if he thinks it sucks”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a moment. I am grateful, you know that. But there’s little use in trying to convince a teenage boy that his situation is as good as it gets”

“I’m sure the Stones had a song about that”

She throws her head back and laughs. They most certainly did, and the number of times she has sung it to her children can’t be counted. These days they tend to launch into song without a single prompt from her.

Without warning, Provenza pops his head in the door. “Hobbs is just wrapping up with dad and his lawyer now, and Sykes is almost done with statements from the psycho-wife and daughter. If you two wanted to organise food” And with that, he disappears again, leaving no room for negotiation.

Both Sharon and Andy can only shake their heads with bemusement, eyes wide, and laugh a little as the door closes swiftly behind him.

“So…” starts Andy, again looking at her. They are still smiling. “Pizza or Chinese?”

She laughs a little at him. “You’re such a New Yorker” she says. She’s really quite fond of that. “I say Chinese”

“You’re the boss”

“You want pizza instead?”

“No, no, I don’t mind, your call. I’ll just go ask the others”

“Okay” she says, nodding with a soft look on her face, a twinkle in her eye. “You know what I’ll have”

He’s not entirely sure, actually, because she has a few favourite dishes, and none of them correspond to a particular mood; she eats whatever she fancies at any given moment. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to guess exactly what she wants, but if she was being picky today she would have said something, so he just gives her a thumbs up as he walks out her door, leaving it open in his wake. She smiles after him, almost wistfully, lost in her thoughts for a moment.

Sometimes it still surprises her, the easy familiarity between them. It’s profound to be wrapped around him, whether in the throes of passion or a comforting embrace. It’s shocking to wake up some mornings with a softly snoring body pressed against her, after so many contented years waking alone, the blankets all her own. But it’s the little gestures too that take her by surprise, even now, even after their honeymoon period came and went without notice. They no longer question, nor do they feel the need to clarify their position in each other’s lives. Most of the kinks have been worked out, and their lingering concerns over being discovered have eased the longer they go without repercussions. Perhaps it’s naïve of them to let their guard down, and they are more cautious than ever about safety in the wake of the letters, but given how comfortable everyone is around them, she feels no need to worry.

Maybe they already know. If that’s the case they don’t seem to care, or pay them the slightest bit of attention. Other than the occasional look from Provenza – innocent, really, in the grand scheme of things – their days at work are unimpeached by rumours, gossip or even friendly speculation. Days go on as they always have. Nobody mentions how much time they inevitably spend together outside of work; everyone in the office socialises in their own way.

And if they don’t know, then it is testament to discretion and Provenza’s willingness to let them be; to Taylor’s lack of care factor regarding their personal time; to Emma’s eventual acceptance of the status quo with Rusty.

The longer they go on together, uncompromised at work and happy at home, the more confident she becomes that they really are in this for keeps, and can make it work.

Again, it may be naivety, and it’s true she never truly lets her guard down – not after a lifetime of disappointing romance and heartbreaking love – but it’s lovely to feel so secure, if only for a moment.

 

When the food arrives an hour later (after all the statements have been taken and one of the team had volunteered to go collect it from down the street) Sharon almost laughs as Doctor Joe and Rusty both emerge from behind the partition of the side office. They both look half dazed, a little bit like deer in headlights. Rusty actually rubs his eyes at the change in lighting.

Though gracious for the offer, Doctor Joe excuses himself with a friendly smile and a handshake, insisting that he’s stayed late as it is. Rusty thanks him, and she can see that the boy has really warmed up to his doctor, even if he won’t admit it. The late afternoon makes this meal neither lunch nor dinner, but nobody seems to mind. They never do, when it’s a victory meal at the end of another successful case, no matter how harrowing.

“So how did it go?” she asks Rusty. Though she speaks only loud enough for him to hear, the subtle shift from the others tell her they are half listening in. They are not very good at hiding that, she thinks, for life-long investigators.

“He’s okay. Gave me a stack of paperwork to fill out which is a giant waste of time, but he can play chess, so it was fine”

“You had a few more games?” she asks. She’ll probe the therapy itself when they are back home and he feels less backed into a corner.

“Yeah, and he’s crazy good. I think he went easy on me, too, which is annoying because he had a clock and pulled out the big moves and everything. It was great”

“That’s good. I’m glad”

“Of course, I might have been able to match him if I’d been allowed to practice with other people sooner” he says pointedly. She only smirks without looking at him, not rising to his bait as she goes through the plastic bag and fishes out chopsticks for herself. Everyone else looks a mix of amused and exasperated, which makes it harder for her to hold her composure; it’s like one big running joke between them all, and if it wasn’t their lives at stake she’d find it genuinely funny.

“I offered to play a few games” says Sykes.

Rusty groans and throws his head back dramatically, and walks away, plonking at a desk as far away from her as possible, as the rest of them try not to laugh too obviously.

She makes her way over to a spare seat next to Andy, and they all eat in comfortable silence, the occasional comment or question being tossed around, but really they’re all happy to just chill out. They’ll wait for the paperwork to be finished on the DA’s deal, sign off the last of the reports, and then close the case for good, all in time to go home and see whoever it is they see. She hears Tao mention his son, and takes a moment to be thankful that she was not in this position when her children were growing up. As thankful as she is for the career opportunity, it’s hard enough with a teenager as self-reliant as Rusty, let alone raising two on her own, without the extended family of the squad to help. The very thought tires her, and her heart goes out to Mike and how hard they all work at such erratic hours. The only one of them with any reprieve today is Buzz, who has the luxury of not having to fill out half as many reports if his services are not needed. He has already gone home for the day, and she’s secretly jealous.

She looks back at Rusty, and ponders their conversation from last night. She thinks she may have gotten through to him, as resistant as he is. She’s glad the meeting had gone well today, and that Doctor Joe was such a hit; she really wants Rusty to start to become more self-aware of his emotions. For someone so young she can only imagine how hard that will be, but without intervention now, who knows what damage may go unaddressed. She doesn’t want his recent traumas to haunt him forever, and if playing a few high-level games of chess can help with that then all the better.

He is looking thoughtfully around the room, a look of almost gratitude on his face, and she wonders what he is thinking behind that flighty gaze. She can’t quite make out what his expression means. She gets the feeling that something is sitting uncomfortably under his skin – perhaps a realisation or earlier conversation come back to him. The few hours between now and when she will eventually approach him will hopefully be enough for him to feel open to talking to her, and if not she can respect that. Doctor Joe seemed like a no-nonsense kind of guy, and if he has opened fresh wounds or exposed inconvenient truths, then she will understand any reticence Rusty has to being open with her about them.

Still, the fact that these subjects are broached in the first place is a good first step, she thinks, painful as it is. Accepting there is a problem is, after all, the first step to finding a solution.

From beside her she notices a questioning glance, and she looks over her shoulder at Andy, his chopsticks half way to his mouth. She shakes her head just enough to convey that everything is fine for the moment, and he takes that at face value. There are few peaceful moments anymore, and this is certainly one of them; a welcomed break from murder, letters, security, unforeseen threats. In the wake of all that, the meal is positively blissful. She will talk with him later, if her thoughts are still bothering her then.

It’s hard to believe the threat is still out there. Her frustration lingers the more time that goes between correspondences, and just when she thinks they might be in the clear another comes down the pipe line. Rusty is understandably not being kept in the loop as to the number or nature of these; God only knows what drastic measures he would take to if he felt his presence was causing the problem, or if he felt he was putting her in harm’s way. So instead she has to deal with a huffy teenager and a constant detail at her home and office.

But it doesn’t really bother her, because a single reminder of the stakes is all it takes to calm her.

It’s a small price to pay, really, much as she wishes it was all over and done with. As the song goes, she can’t always have what she wants, and for the moment this is what she needs.

“Hey Rusty” calls Sanchez. “Did you steal all the spring rolls again?”

“I do not eat all the spring rolls, that was all Flynn’s fault” he calls back, indignant and playful in one. “I don’t even like spring rolls”

“Well we know that’s a lie” grumbles Provenza. He’s buried elbow deep in the plastic bag, searching for the chilli dipping sauce for said missing rolls. “And who took the damn bag of crackers? I didn’t get any last time and I today want double or I’m revoking printer privileges for everyone… oh, ugh, except you Captain”

She laughs at him merrily, waving her chopsticks in friendly dismissal. Someone mutters ‘teacher’s pet’ – it might be Sykes – but Provenza doesn’t pay them any attention.

“I don’t think they put crackers in” says Mike around his mouthful.

“Again?” asks Andy, piping up from the corner with a mouth full of broccoli. “That’s it, we’re not going back there again, that’s twice they’ve forgotten something important, I say we try that other place on the next block”

“Oh, quit your grumbling would you, you got your damn veggie bonanza” says Provenza, waving him off.

“My grumbling? Is that the pot calling the kettle black again?”

Provenza only huffs at him and gives up his search. The rest of them barely contain their giggles at their antics. Sharon catches Andy’s eye and grins at him, and he gives her a private look in return, just subtle enough that nobody is the wiser.

She looks up just in time to catch a funny look on Rusty’s face – a mix of fondness and grief. Again, she can’t decipher it, and she wonders just what Doctor Joe talked about. The boy looks like he’s both elated and sad to be among them; like he’s grateful to be loved by them but unsure why he is. She thinks it must be hard to accept such blind friendship after a lifetime of suspicion. She thinks he needs these easy moments as much as the rest of them do, if only for different reasons.

That she can facilitate these moments – these blinks of normality – warms her heart. If anyone deserves this it’s Rusty. She can’t stop herself smiling into her curry as a wave of sentiment washes over her, and she is reminded again why taking him in was the single best decision she could have made.

It’s not ideal, this situation they are in, but it’s what they’ve got, and she’s determined to make the most of it.

 

 


	3. If Turnips Were Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She’s off in the clouds tonight, swept away by the spectacle of it all. He can imagine her, young and similar to how she is now, her feet encased in pointe shoes, her arm outstretched in a move he can’t name. He thinks she would have made a beautiful dancer"  
> Sharon and Andy attend the Nutcracker.

**_If Turnips Were Swords_ **

They’re walking back to his car arm in arm, and after such a wonderful evening she’s positively giddy. She always enjoys the ballet; ever since she was a girl doing classes for fun she has been mesmerised by the stage. That and the fact it’s Christmas – her most favourite time of year – and this night truly could not get better.

“So how did you like it?” he asks her.

Her hand is resting in the crook of his elbow as he walks them away from the theatre entrance. Nicole had left them at the door to go track down her step-sons, asking belatedly if Andy could come for lunch the next time he was free on the weekend. Such a small and innocent request from her had visibly buoyed him, and he’d assured her again and again that he would call. Sharon knows that he’ll call this week, before Nicole’s mother can plant doubt, or a case can ruin the opportunity. She’s already resolved that if she doesn’t need him on point, she’ll give him the day off.

“Oh, I love that production” she replies on a happy sigh. “Every time I see it, I like it more and more”

“Really? I would have thought you’d be sick of it by now - hasn’t your daughter been in a show of The Nutcracker?”

“Of course. It was one of her very first professional level performances. But it’s still my favourite at this time of year. Such a lovely story”

He scoffs at her in good humour and shakes his head. She’s off in the clouds tonight, swept away by the spectacle of it all. He can imagine her, young and similar to how she is now, her feet encased in pointe shoes, her arm outstretched in a move he can’t name. He thinks she would have made a beautiful dancer – even in her heals she is light on her feet, and there’s no denying she has the slight frame custom made for the job. He’s seen pictures of her daughter; knows her to be a mini-me of her mother. Knows that the love for the art was definitely in her blood.

“I think the boys did well” he says. He actually has no idea if the boys have left feet or not. But Sharon had cooed so enthusiastically with Nicole that he figures they must have potential; his new son-in-law had beamed when Sharon mentioned how well-balanced they were on their feet. She had encouraged them to keep the boys enrolled, and that’s indication enough that they must have done well tonight.

“They did so well” she insists. The car is parked just down the street, but he gestures to a place still open for coffee and she nods, so they change direction slightly and head that way. “I really think they could be beautiful dancers. Noah is very agile on his feet, and Ben is so lean”

“Underfed” he mutters. She pointedly ignores him. Ben takes after his mother – a woman so naturally slight that her bones protruded, if Nicole’s story is to be believed. The woman passed away when Ben was a newborn, but lives on in her youngest. Any bulk on that boy will have to be earned, for sure. Noah is stockier – takes after his dad – but they are both so young and run around outside a lot, so he is quick and bouncy, and flexible in that way children often are. She thinks he’d be more suited to ball sports for all his pent up energy, but for the moment he is holding his own on stage, so she will let time tell instead of mentioning anything to Nicole.

“But you know” she continues, holding him back just before the walk into the coffee place. “You didn’t need to create this ruse about ballet knowledge just to get me to come”

She is smiling at him fondly. He knows she sees right through him, and while it’s sometimes frustrating, mostly he feels okay with being caught out. He just smiles back.

“I had to make it look good for the squad. Can’t have them getting the idea that we’re going on dates, now, can we?”

She huffs a light laugh at him. “Oh I see, so it was for their benefit?”

“Of course. They already know I took you to Nic’s wedding. If I didn’t have a good reason for taking you tonight they might get suspicious. And besides, it meant that someone would offer right away to take Rusty”

She shakes her head at him. She thinks he is equal parts pathetic and adorable, and doesn’t have the words to explain just how endearing she finds him. “Firstly, you know Provenza would have taken Rusty for burgers, even if I’d asked him personally. And second, why would the squad care if you brought me? Do you think they haven’t noticed how close we are?”

The look of sheer panic that momentarily creeps on his face makes her hold in a sudden fit of laughter, her lips pursed and her eyes wide. His demeanour changes instantly, and for a brief second his eyes dart around, searching for a familiar face that is going to catch them in the act. Of course, they’ve just found seats inside, so unless the elderly Italian gentleman at the bar is going to rat them out, there is no threat here.

“Andy” she giggles, swatting his arm and urging him to sit across from her. He lowers himself slowly into the chair. “Calm down, nobody is watching”

“Aren’t you worried?” he hisses. “You’re the one always going on about propriety and subtly”

“Just because the team know we spend time together outside of work, doesn’t mean they’re suspicious. And besides, even if they were, do you really think they’d say anything? We’ve been doing this” she gestures between them. “- for almost eighteen months now”

“It hasn’t been eighteen months” he says, brow furrowed as he mentally tries to backtrack to the harrowing few days he was kidnapped, when their torrid little affair truly began.

“If you consider the months we danced around our feelings, which you have to admit was not very subtle”

“Well, when Provenza comes in telling you to pull your finger out of your ass and do something about it, I think you can safely assume subtly is out the window”

She giggles again at him, and at the memory of learning that Provenza was the first to notice what neither of them would admit. It seems so long ago now – those uncertain days of flirting around one another and pretending they didn’t feel the spark between them. Of bringing each other tea and coffee as a sign of affection. Days of wanting, and hurting, and such fierce confusion for both of them, caught by the circumstances of their jobs and her marriage, and by the realities of a secret affair. The days that followed more than make up for it, but she can still feel the cold terror of his kidnap and rescue; can still hear the echo of his declaration of love as a gun was held to his head.

She smiles at him now, healthy and whole, as he grins at her.

“I’d love to see the look on his face if I just kissed you right in the middle of the squad room” he says, smiling at the notion. He never would, not while they’re being careful. But one day he fully intends to tell the rules to kiss his arse, and when that day comes, the first thing he’s doing is kissing her senseless in front of everybody.

“You know what, maybe one day I might just let you” she counters. He fully intends to hold her to that. He likes that he brings out this side of her. Sometimes he wonders at himself, that he didn’t see how light and silly she can be; that he never paid attention to the moments when she was so human and so vulnerable. He was never looking for them of course – she was the enemy on their turf, come to stir up trouble – but upon reflection they were always there, in the ways she would spar with Chief Johnson, and get emotional over particular cases, and the year they spent Christmas together in the squad room. He was too busy being angry at her to ever see how lovable she really is, and he could kick himself for that now, if only because of the missed opportunity for her friendship.

They quickly order tea and a small pastry to share, and spend a little while in comfortable silence, watching the night-time traffic drive past. Andy lets his thoughts wander and surprises himself when they turn pensive and a little bit dark. He can’t help but consider if the letter writer is in one of those cars; can’t stop himself from considering that he’s standing now, across the street, taking secret photos to scare them with later.

Since she won’t tell him what’s in the letters against her, he can only imagine the threats, and his mind naturally makes them far worse than reality. She has assured him again and again that she is safe. She has told him of some of the other threats she has received throughout her career, and how much worse they were, and how even then she was safe. As though they were the same thing; as though angry and vengeful cops equate to an unknown threat controlled by Phillip Stroh himself.

Nothing she says ever makes him feel better, although he does trust that she wouldn’t put herself at unnecessary risk. He only wishes he could go and find the sick son of a bitch himself, vigilante-style. Not that doing so is a practical decision, but it beats sitting around just waiting for something to happen. His teeth are on edge all the time, and he doesn’t like it.

“Hey. You still with me?”

He hums, questioning, as he turns back to her, shaken from his reverie by her light voice and a hand on his arm. She has a puzzled expression on her face, curious and slightly worried, like she’s trying to figure him out. He must have looked spaced out, because when he doesn’t immediately answer her grip twitches on his arm just a little bit, and she tilts her head.

“Andy, what’s wrong?”

“No, nothing”

He can see that he hasn’t fooled her. “Really, what is it?”

“I was just thinking”

“About what?” she asks softly. She doesn’t rib him, and he can see that he’s put her into a caring mood, and while he’s sorry to have broken the playfulness of earlier, he sighs to himself; she won’t let this drop now, so he might as well start talking.

“I just worry about you, is all” he says, placing his hand on top of hers where it rests on his arm. He threads their fingers, and she lets him hold her hand properly.

“What for?” she asks, smiling at him, her brow still crinkled a little in confusion.

“I just sometimes get in these moods where I stress that a bad guy is hiding in a shrub. It’s fine”

Her look is scrutinising now, no longer light or attempting to be ignorant. He knows he sounds a little bit crazy, like he’s developing paranoia or something equally irrational. It’s not that; he just doesn’t want anything to happen to her, and given how emotionally invested he is, his feelings are amplified and projected tenfold. He can’t stop himself.

“Andy, what are you talking about?” she asks. Her gaze is piercing in that way that makes it feel like she’s seeing straight into his soul. He never knows how to handle the intensity of her eyes when she becomes so fully invested in dissecting someone; he hasn’t quite mastered the art of being unaffected by it. He’s not sure he ever wants to be, either, which is somewhat disconcerting, but not surprising in the end.

“I’m just scared of losing the best thing that’s ever happened to me” he admits, and he must be overly sentimental tonight or something, because now that he’s started he can’t stop himself, and the words just flow on a hushed whisper, almost frantic. “If I could make it all better, you know I would, in a heartbeat. I would. I wish I could just have one night out with you where I don’t look over my shoulder, but until that psycho is caught, Sharon, I’m going to worry about you, I can’t help it”

She shushes him gently, caressing his arm on the table, but any response is cut short by the arrival of the tea. She thanks the waitress, and he stares furiously at the table-top, unable to look at her after his outburst. There’s so much more he wants to say to her, yet he feels like he said too much already. She takes his hand back, ignoring her drink, and he is eventually compelled to meet her eye.  

“I’m fine” she whispers to him, so earnest that it hurts him. “I’m safe here with you, and we’ve had a beautiful night, and I’m not going anywhere” She punctuates the last three words with such vehemence that it truly calms him, if only a little. She is so sure, so steady in a crisis. Yin to his yang, in every way that counts.

“I can’t do anything, and it’s killing me” he whispers. He sounds desperate and broken. He doesn’t like it, the way this situation is making him into one of those possessive and unattractive men, who insist on locking their women up at night, like a precious ring to be put back in the safe. She is not his play thing, yet he still feels that undeniable tug of another kid trying to steal his toy car at lunchtime. Only this time it’s the boy’s life in the balance and her throwing herself in the firing line, and he has no tools to battle with; not even his fists. He has to wait. He’s never been very good at inaction. He never learned how to sit still, or calm his temper, or stay rational once his heart took over.

Essentially, he is not like her, and it makes him furious.

“Andy, you have to stop letting this consume you. You have to stop” she says. Her eyes look so very worried, and her voice is so soft. He hates that he’s distracting her and making her think about him, but as soon as she speaks he again calms down, and he marvels at that response. A simple touch and he is all better.

“I’m sorry” he whispers. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop. You’re right”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes closed, her hand in his hand, and after a moment he feels more centred. He comes back into himself, and it must be a palpable change because when he opens his eyes again she is looking at him quizzically, but no longer like she thinks he’s lost mind.

He looks at her and smiles, and the corner of her mouth quirks back at him. All is calm again.

“Just know that if I could fight this for you-”

“I know” she says with a tender look. “You’d storm the castle and slay the dragon”

“You sayin’ I’m Shrek?” he scoffs.

“There is certainly a comparison to be made” she says, barely containing her grin as she releases his hand to pick up her tea. He does the same, and it is so light between them that it’s as though the last few moments didn’t happen.

“You better watch it, Shrek’s missus is an ogre too, if you recall”

“Now who better watch it” She glares at him over the rim of her cup. He winks at her and takes a sip of his own tea. He can see the smirk that she’s trying to hide, and okay so maybe two people their age shouldn’t know so much about Shrek, but he really thinks it’s funny.

“But Sharon, you are beautiful” he mocks, batting his eyes. She giggles at him, knocking her foot against his shins lightly in reproach, and he lets himself laugh. He also lets his worries fade away and become tomorrow’s problem, and decides to himself that tonight will be only happy memories involving his family. Maybe he’s fooling himself, but for a few blissful hours he wants to forget about the boogeyman hiding in the shrubs. He wants to pretend that it really will be okay, and that they are safe and sound, and that everything is normal.

Sharon seems fine with this plan. In fact, Sharon seems to think this is the smartest thing he’s come up with all evening, if her lingering smile is any indication. And after all, who is he to argue with his Princess Fiona.


	4. I'd Wear One By My Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written in (belated) response to “That Christmas Business” on the raydorflynn livejournal page. Set as a tag to episode 2x15, and I’ve borrowed and tweaked from the Christmas scenes in the episode, because I think they’re beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I must apologise for real life getting in the way, and as penance give you a super long chapter. I’m doing my best to stay motivated, but I’ve started a swanky new job this week and am starting my Honours thesis year, so everything is a bit busy. But even so, I love all my readers, subscribers and reviewers. Everyone who keeps coming back, thank you.  
> Much love, and enjoy the read.

**_I’d wear one by my side_ **

 

She had always known – or at least suspected – that Christmas would be a difficult time for him. Their first Christmas had come and gone without much fanfare, brutally subdued if only to keep the peace, back when they were still on slightly shaky ground. She can’t imagine that it was ever a happy affair with his mother, if the woman remembered at all, and now she understands that the holiday season – the television ads about family, and the feasts on the tables, and the countless sales of frivolous goods – is only a stark reminder of how different his world really was not so long ago.

It is a fact that can’t be more obvious than when he comes home on December 1st and sees the inordinate amount of lights she has erected around the house; the wreath on the door; the rather imposing live tree she has indulged in this year. He just about chokes on his tongue as he steps through the door, and she stifles a laugh, because he is the epitome of ‘gobstruck’.

She side-steps him through the front door and tries to supress her giggles as he tentatively searches around the corner. Surely he can’t think she’s hidden a giant snowman near his room or something. She may love Christmas more than any other holiday, but she’s not the Griswalds; there is a limit.

“Sharon” he breaths, still clearly in shock. “This is amazing”

“Thank you” she says with a smile, setting her handbag on the side table and taking out her phone to put on charge. She’s proud of her effort this year. Since her children moved out she’d let Christmas decorating slide a little bit; it didn’t seem worth it just for little old her, not when most years they would converge at her parent’s lodge in Utah. But this year she has a family again. Her children may be away – her son at his first ever Christmas with in-laws, and her daughter touring with her company. And her husband may still be (thankfully) MIA. But for the first time in a long time she has a partner and a child in her home; people who love her, upon whom she can inflict her mother’s pudding recipe.

She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face if she tried.

“I can’t believe this, I mean… I really can’t believe this. How many lights do you have?”

She just laughs at him as she moves around towards the kitchen. She has strung up a few spare sets of outdoor light around the sideboard and the TV stand. It creates an atmosphere, particularly when she dims the house lights.

“And your tree… is that real? Is that a real live tree, like, with water and roots and leaves? Is that what I can smell? Is that what that smell is?”

She laughs, and hums an affirmative at him as she rounds the corner and heads for the fridge. “It sits in a water-filled base, and then we throw it out after Christmas”

He must have seen enough movies to not question the economics of live Christmas trees any further, though he still eyes that corner of the room with wonder. 

“Uh, Sharon… your tree isn’t done”

“No, it’s not. I ran out of time, so I left the best for last”

He finally follows her into the kitchen as she’s taking pasta sauce out of the fridge. Andy had made it for them and brought it over last night, so in lieu of cooking she plans on boiling some penne and taking full advantage of a partner who likes to cook.

She looks up when she notices how quiet Rusty has become, and his hands are in his pockets and he won’t meet her eye. He looks sheepish about something, but not scared or angry, and in light of his last comment she thinks she knows what he wants to ask. She hides another grin, and casually talks over her shoulder.

“Would you like to help me decorate the tree after dinner? There are plenty of ornaments to go around”

She flicks her gaze to him briefly, just to gauge his reaction. He seems to war with himself for a moment before he reluctantly shakes his head. “Nah, I’m okay, I have some homework I should probably do” he says quietly. “But I can watch?”

Her heart swells. Next year, she thinks. Next year he might be ready to fully embrace the holidays. She doesn’t begrudge him his reticence. She nods at his request with a gentle smile. “Of course. You can be my eyes, tell me how it looks from a distance”

He smiles at her, nodding once, his hands still buried in his pockets.

She understands that he might be feeling a mix of emotions at the holidays. As much as they’ve settled into their own happy life, she knows Rusty still yearns for his mother’s love; for a sign that she still cares about him, despite her hopeless journey further away from him. She can fully understand that he still loves her and wants to be with her, especially at this time of the year, when his world so greatly contrasts with what it once was. She cannot judge that; she’s still technically married to Jack, after all. Who is she to throw stones about irrational love and affection.

 

Once the pasta is done, they eat dinner in comfortable silence. They have already debriefed each other of their respective days in the car – a holdover ritual from her days of picking her children up from school and wanting every detail – so they don’t feel the need to fill the silence. The pasta is delicious, and even Rusty comments that they should thank Andy for making the sauce. The two of them – her two boys, she thinks - have really formed their own unique bond, and she loves to watch it unfold; not quite father, but perhaps closer to favourite uncle. Certainly, Andy is someone Rusty looks up to, perhaps more than anyone else if only because of their shared understanding of struggles and betterment; they are similar in that regard. If there is anybody best equipped to guide her on matters pertaining to sins of the past and the guilt that goes with them, it’s Andy. He can offer her insight into Rusty’s mind that she just wouldn’t have on her own; much as she loves her boy, love does not always offer all the answers, and when it doesn’t she has Andy.

That and they all see each other outside of work more than anyone else.

She takes a moment to be grateful that Rusty is surrounded by strong and caring men who look out for him. Provenza is the first to come to mind – her unlikely ally and stalwart confidant with regards to Rusty’s continued safety. She and he have also formed a unique friendship. She wonders if they would be so close if it weren’t for their mutual love of Andy and concern for Rusty. She likes to think they would be. Provenza cares deeply for her boy, and she thinks that would be enough to put them on the same side of the fence.

Buzz, too, has proven himself a reluctant big brother, and she treasures the outside perspective he can offer Rusty; the nudge in the right direction that would feel forced or contrite coming from her.

But all of her colleagues care for Rusty in their own way, and perhaps this Christmas is so overwhelming because, for the first time, he is starting to see that his life can feature the family roast, and the big tree, and the presents stacked underneath. Perhaps he still questions his happiness, and his right to feel secure, and so she won’t pressure him to embrace it, but she will make sure he knows that from now on, this is his reality for as long as he wants it to be.

Rusty is calmer now – less unsure like he was when he first walked inside – and she silently gives herself the kudos, because he is less and less surprised by her gestures, and she likes that she has normalised this kind of life for him.

“Is Flynn coming over tonight?” asks Rusty a while later, wiping his mouth on a napkin as she collects his empty plate and stacks it on her own. He stands up and gathers the placemats while she proceeds to put the dishes in the dishwasher.

“Not tonight” she says. “He and Lieutenant Provenza had plans”

“Plans?”

“He didn’t say and I didn’t ask”

Rusty scoffs at her, and nods his head in acknowledgement. There are some things that just don’t change, and despite everything, Andy and Provenza’s shenanigans are one of them. She’d rather not know what they’re getting up to, lest it be even remotely illicit, and she’s certain they feel the same about her ignorance. 

Given the table was so simple to clean, Rusty shuffles on his feet and then jerks his head towards his room. “I’m gonna go do my homework”

“Okay honey. You let me know if you need any help” she says.

They are both fully aware that she’s not talking about homework. He looks mildly uncomfortable at being so transparent to her; of realising that she sees straight through his awkwardness. Some days he’s convinced she’s a clairvoyant with the way she can navigate whatever is on his mind. It’s an unexpected comfort, knowing he doesn’t have to explain himself. Ever since the letter fiasco he was convinced she would pull away, distance herself a little, or stop trying so hard to always be so damn _caring_ , but instead she’s the same old Sharon, insisting he get three meals a day and a full day at school. This Christmas business is just an extension of her overbearing ability to love, indicative of a life and a family that upheld the most joyful traditions.

He retreats to his room to get his meagre homework done, and only a few short minutes later he hears the soft strains of a piano playing Christmas carols. He has to grin to himself. She really does love the holidays.

Abandoning the pretence of study, he shuffles back out to the living room, and is once again surprised when he sees that she has procured boxes and boxes of decorations for the tree. How she managed to dig them out so quickly he’ll never know. He suspects it might have something to do with her freakishly organised storage room just off the kitchen, but doesn’t dwell on that now when the place looks so cluttered yet so homely.

Still, a thought won’t leave him alone, and so he has to reassure her, even though he knows deep down what her answer is going to be.

“You know you don’t have to go to all this trouble for me, Sharon” he says, more subdued than he was before. He feels bad that he didn’t reassure her of that in the beginning, but something tells him she isn’t doing this for him. Still, he doesn’t want her to feel like she owes him a big shin-dig; a roof over his head and some unwavering love is present enough for one year.

“You don’t like Christmas?” she asks softly, watching him as he takes a closer look around the place – the lights and the angels she’s put on every available surface.

“Well, until you, I never really thought about it much” he says with a shrug. She hums noncommittally and continues to pick up some angel ornaments, looping them gently on her fingers to carry many at once.

“You do seem a little… well, quiet, I suppose” she says, throwing him a kind smile over her shoulder. He takes her look to mean that she isn’t pressuring him, and she’s willing to listen. It makes it easier to consider opening up to her about his long-repressed feelings. “Is everything okay with Doctor Joe? Of course, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want”

Though he can see she’s clearly interested, and perhaps even subtly prying, it’s her insistence on privacy and confidentiality that convinces him that she’s only asking because she cares. She’s not the kind of person, he thinks, to ask veiled questions full of double meanings, to be thrown back in his face later. If she’s asking, it must only be because she genuinely wants to know how his sessions are going.

So he decides that, given how well keeping secrets worked the last time, the least he can do is offer her honesty. “I’ve been talking about my Mom a lot”

She seems mildly surprised, if only because he never mentions his mother if he can avoid it - the last time had been a near panic attack over the smell of a particular aftershave they walked past at the shops, reminding him of a boyfriend who was particularly fond of violence. Unless absolutely necessary, he avoids mentioning anything of his life before coming to live with her, and so she gives him a look which she hopes is encouraging, because as painful as it is, the wound that is his mother is one that she knows must be addressed and soon.

Rusty seems to internally decide to continue, resigning himself to opening up fully as he takes half a step forward and watches her move back from the tree. “I don’t know, I just… I feel guilty”

She looks sad for him, but in a way that is not at all condescending. Sad, like she wants to hug away the hurt; a feeling he is still getting comfortable with. “She’s out there – somewhere – and I’m… here…” He gestures vaguely to the living room, a confused look on his face. She is patient, and waits for him to find the words. “…in this nice place with a tree, and ornaments”

She looks him over, considering for a moment what it must be like. She’s never considered before, that the good things would come with all this survivor’s guilt; she had only ever sought to better his life and make him a home, and it never occurred to her that some of his reluctance was not his own discomfort, but the perceived discomfort of his mother, the ghost that haunts him. She has been so distracted by their life together, that she had completely written off the idea of his mother ever coming back and seeing him now. She gets the impression that Rusty still holds on to a slither of that hope, despite his essay on influences, and over eighteen month with her. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Sharon, because you’re really important to me” he reassures, and she gives him a gentle smile. “I just… I also love my Mom”

She nods, and tries to remain casual and light, despite the emotion that threatens to bring tears to her eyes. “I understand” she says, and he realises that, she really does. She gets what he’s trying to say. “I have two kids. I love them both equally. And if it turns out I have part of a third… I love him too” The both of them take a moment to recognise the other – to stop and appreciate this moment of honesty, so rare yet so necessary, and very much welcomed.

“I’m really sorry that your Mom isn’t able to share in any of this with you” she adds, gesturing to the lights, and to the tree that is slowing being decorated behind her. She looks so upset on his behalf, and he thinks that this must be the definition of that unconditional love he hears so much about. Here he is, telling her that all of this is great and everything, but too bad his deadbeat mother couldn’t join in too, and all she does is nod with understanding and look heartbroken for him, and he thinks he’ll never understand how someone can be so unselfish. He’s never met anyone like her.

“Well, I’m not sure how much she’d appreciate it” he says, by way of trying to reiterate the line in the sand. Sharon just collects a few more angels and goes back to the tree. “Wow, I mean… you do have a lot of angels”

She turns back to him from the tree, her expression amusedly earnest. “Oh, you can never have too many angels”

He rolls his eyes and nods at her, paying her that comment, and she grins at him slyly before turning to place the last ornament on the tree. The mood has managed to go from light, to meaningful, and back to teasing again. He feels safe. Despite everything, he feels for the first time like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. It scares him as much as it comforts him.

Before either of them has to fill the silence again, there is a sudden knock on the door. Rusty looks to Sharon with furrowed brows as she whips around and meets his eye. She also looks confused.

They aren’t overly worried, given the amount of security around them, so he thumbs over his shoulder and she nods at him. He walks over to the door, and just in case, asks who it is before undoing the deadbolt or chain.

“It’s me, open up”

They look at each other very quickly, surprise at the familiar voice. Sharon puts down the ornaments still in her hand as Rusty undoes the various locks and swings the door wide.

Andy is standing on the other side, a grin on his face and a container in his arms.

“Oooga-booga” he says.

They all smile at each other, and Rusty astutely moves out of the way to let him in, then moves to the corner of the room as Sharon approaches. He makes himself scarce by looking over the boxes of angels, giving them a moment.

“What are you doing here?” she asks with a disbelieving smile. “I thought you and Provenza were getting up to trouble tonight”

“Well we were, and then he got a call and suddenly had to go fix a sink pipe, or… something”

“What?”

“I think it was Liz”

She bursts out laughing, and Andy can’t help but join in, nodding in mirth.

“So your date ditched you, huh?”

“Yeah. So instead of wallowing at home, I brought tiramisu that I made. Thought you and the kid could help me eat it”

“Oh, we’re your second-best choice, are we?”

He doesn’t bother trying to dig his way out of that one, instead using one free hand to pull her closer and kiss the smug grin off her mouth. She kisses him back, still grinning, and takes the bowl from his hands to take it to the fridge.

Andy steps further inside and looks around. Sharon had told him she was planning on decorating, so he’s not shocked by the sight, but the sheer number of lights almost blinds him, and he notices the smell of the tree, and the beginning of the decorating.

“You got drafted for Christmas duty, huh?” he asks Rusty, approaching the couch where Rusty still stands, looking over the boxes.

“Nah, I was just looking. Thought I’d leave it to the professionals”

Andy just chuckles at him and takes another look around from further in the living room, the lights and the statues everywhere. “The place looks beautiful, Sharon. Really lovely”

“Thank you” she says, coming back from the kitchen. “I just have to finish the tree and then I’m all done. You boys are welcome to help me”

Andy and Rusty give each other a look as she turns around, grabs a few ornaments, and then walks back over to continue decorating the branches. Rusty shakes his head, his eyes wide, and Andy (willing to play along) whispers _run,_ and jerks his head towards the corridor. Rusty makes a big show of bolting away towards his room, content to leave the adults to talk while he escapes the Christmas music, which honestly he can’t stand past about four songs.

Andy laughs at his back, and Sharon turns her head to give them both a funny look as she listens to their antics. She looks at Andy and raises one eyebrow, and he walks over to her, picking up two ornaments along the way.

He stops right beside her, and grins when she gives him another sly look.

“Hi” he says, standing right in her personal space.

“Hi”

He deliberately reaches over her, crowding her, to put one of his angels on the tree, and she stifles a giggle at him, letting him have his moment.

“The kid not like Christmas?” he asks. He picked up on Rusty’s awkward mood and his reluctance to get too involved.

“He’s feeling a little conflicted” she says kindly, without any judgement. She doesn’t seem bothered by that, or at least she isn’t upset. Maybe a little confused, but then it is hard to shake ones past, and especially for a child. Andy understands that; it is a feeling that is particularly apparent for him this holiday season.

“So you need a hand with the tree?” he asks instead, shooting her a cheeky grin.

“I can always use a hand” she counters. He’s not sure if she means for that to sound suggestive or flirty, and he certainly didn’t just come over for a booty call, but he can’t help but let his mind wander. She must notice, because she just slaps his chest and gives him a look, then dodges out of the circle of his arms and collects more decorations. “Here, you can put some around the back while I continue the front”

“Should I be offended?”

“If I was truly worried about your decorating skills I wouldn’t have conscribed you at all. Think of it as a complement”

“You know, there are some days I am amazed you didn’t go into politics, or even law”

She just grins a little – perhaps a little bitterly, if he’s really reading her right – and shakes her head with mirth. “In another life, in another life” she sing-songs. He’s not sure what that means, really, but then Christmas does seem to bring out the best and the worst. Perhaps Rusty’s mother is making her think of Jack; perhaps she’s just sad she won’t be with her children. He can’t really guess, so just gives her an open look that invites her to explain. She doesn’t, but she doesn’t look particularly upset, so he lets it go.

She finishes putting that handful of ornaments on, and so he takes a moment to quickly steal a kiss from her. She hums a little, and smiles against his lips, her eyes slipping shut in pleasure. He might be imagining relief too, but can’t be sure. Some days she is still hard to get a read on, and as much as he knows about her, her past is so vast and so emotionally complex that any number of things could be affecting her tonight.

Her hand comes up to rest against his cheek, and one of his hands rests lightly on her hip, but they don’t move closer – this is not passion, it is merely affirmation. Sometimes he thinks she needs that just as much. She has said so to him - that many years without someone by her side has made her unsure, even wary. He never wants to inspire distance; never wants her to think he’s only here for sex, or the pretence of intimacy.

“I love you” he whispers against her lips.

She opens her eyes without moving way, their faces so close that she looks cross-eyed. She’s searching for something, and he’s not sure what, but she must be content with what she finds because her expression loses its guardedness, and she smiles. “Merry Christmas, Andy”

Perhaps for both of them this will be the first Christmas in a long time that is worth celebrating. Perhaps they will even see it through together. He certainly hopes so.

They hear footsteps down the hall and step away from each other just as Rusty enters the room again, a somewhat sheepish look on his face, like he’s sorry for interrupting. Sharon just smiles at him in reassurance, and Andy collects a few more ornaments and passes her some.

“Hey kid, you gonna help?”

“Nah, I’m still just happy to watch” he says, clearing boxes off one of the single arm chairs and plopping down. Andy shrugs at him, but lets him be, and Sharon is still smiling. He figures it’s a big step for the kid to even be in the room, so he doesn’t push, and they fall into an easy silence as the tree slowly fills with decorations, the soft carols still playing on the CD player.

“Jesus, Sharon, how many angels do you have?” whines Andy, realising that on his fourth pass he has seen nothing but.

“You can never have too many angels” replies Rusty, obviously mocking her. Sharon laughs at him, nodding all the same. Andy attributes it to a personal belief – a mix of guardian angels and her Catholic upbringing, that she now has ones for every imaginable purpose, surrounding herself with heralds as if to keep away the boogie-man, at least during the holidays.

Still, he figures, it’s not a bad belief to have. And if it helps, then all the better.

He sends out a silent prayer to the universe that all these angels will be enough, and continues to hang them on the tree, taking a moment to think of all his own guardian angels he has had during his life, and adding them to her ethereal protective detail. After all, it never hurt to have a little protection from every plane. 


	5. and if Ifs and Ands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She had found her undergrad certificate not long ago, laughed at the date, and showed it to him for posterity. "  
> Sharon and Andy discuss the road that lead them here. Tag for episode 2x16, in response to the raydorflynn prompt Internal Affairs.

**_and if Ifs and Ands…_ **

Her door bursts open rather ungracefully, and her head pops up at the familiar greeting of “Hey”

“What can I do for you?” she asks calmly, raising one eyebrow as he closes the door behind him and takes a seat in her chair, wholly uninvited.

“Did the kid ask you any weird questions the last couple of days?” he asks, without preamble, his face scrunched rather adorably in confusion. She smirks at him and lowers her computer screen, resting her arms on the desk as she leans closer to him for their chat. It’s obvious that this is a more personal meeting; if it was about Rusty in a professional sense, he would have no doubt used her rank as a greeting.

“Define weird” she answers. His expression doesn’t change, even when she grins a little, and it makes her curious. Whatever he’s talking about has been playing on his mind, and yet it doesn’t seem serious, so whatever it is, she has the feeling it’s going to make her laugh.

“I dunno, out of the ordinary. Strange. You know, _weird_ ”

She gives him another arched brow. “We are talking about Rusty. Your definition might be a little skewed” He gives her a reproachful look, which only amuses her, and so she quits her teasing. “But if it helps, no, he hasn’t asked anything out of the ordinary, why?”

“I don’t know, he’s just been asking everyone really obvious questions about why they joined the job and what lead them here, what their families are like, you know. I feel like he’s been prompted”

“Oh” she hums, her eyes going wide in recognition. “You know, he did ask me something like that the other morning” she says, pointing her finger and leaning back in her chair. She lightly crosses her arms as she thinks about the significance, her posture relaxed and yet thoughtful. It’s over a week ago now that she thinks about it.

“And you didn’t find it strange?”

“Well, no, it was just nice of him to consider… but you know, perhaps he has been prompted” she says, nodding slowly to herself, almost as if she’s talking out loud. “I know both Buzz and Lieutenant Provenza have been keen to expand his empathy to those around him – just the other day they were talking in the break room about getting him to participate in extracurricular activities once his testimony for Stroh is done. Perhaps one of them not-so-subtly suggested he might like to think about starting with all of us”

Andy snorts to himself and shakes his head. There’s no doubt that Rusty needs to open up a little bit more, and if his first failed attempt at an ‘influences’ essay is any indication he still firmly believes himself to be an island. He is learning, slowly, to trust the surety of his home and the fidelity of his adoptive family, but Andy is glad that others are recognising the areas he needs to improve as well. Rusty’s emotional maturity is understandably stunted after a life such as his, but his eighteenth birthday is just around the corner, and high school graduation will come after that. He won’t be a protected witness forever, and when the real world does come they want him to be prepared. The boy cannot go off to college without a few soft and subtle lessons from those around him. That he was even willing to take the advice – obvious though his probing was – is indicative of how much he has grown. Andy is proud of him for that.

More than proud, Andy was happy to share his story, if only to remind Rusty that he has a choice in his life; delinquency or the law, drinking or sobriety. Heck, Andy is practically a walking cautionary tale for the boy, and if Rusty wants to know his story and learn from it, all the better.

“What did you tell him?” she asks, her eyes crinkling in the corners, her lips quirked in a mirthful grin.

“The truth”

“Not the whole truth, I hope”

“Nothing but, so help me God” he says. He all but winks at her. She’s not sure whether to be horrified or not. She has read his jacket a thousand times, and has gleaned from his occasional comments that he was a bit of a rebel without a cause even before the job. It’s no surprise really, given his performance history, but she wonders just how much information is the difference between lesson and encouragement.

“Don’t worry, I gave him the edited version” he says, all but laughing at the look on her face. “Said the usual, you know, don’t do drugs, get a chick pregnant, or ride on your cousin’s modified Harley without a helmet”

She rolls her eyes and closes them, thumping her head on the back of her chair in exasperation. “Good grief, what am I going to do with you”

He just laughs at her reaction, and she shoots him a scowl for good measure.

“If it’s an consolation, Rusty doesn’t show the least bit of interest in motorcycles” he adds, and she practically pulls a muscle rolling her eyes at him. He laughs again.

“What about you? What did you say?” he asks. She recognises that he is fishing as soon as he opens his mouth. It’s not that she doesn’t like discussing her early years so much as it is a bit uncomfortable to be reminded of a time in her life when things were less certain. When her relationship was dysfunctional at best, and she had school fees and ballet recitals and football games constantly on the brain, and her dream career took a backseat to practicality, and her colleagues distrusted her quick move to the ‘rat dogs’. She has not been miserable all her life, not by a long shot, but there is an order and calm to her life at the moment, despite the letters and the increased responsibility. The ways in which she is busy these days is perfectly manageable when compared against those early years.

“I told him about when I started” she says.

“In IA?”

“No, no, IA came later, I was telling him what brought me to the LAPD in the first place”

Andy looks at her in a blatantly critical way, sizing up what he wants to know with the best possible way to ask. Deciding whether to interrogate or let her direct the conversation. She thinks it’s cute, and her smile says as much.

“I remember you as a rookie. Thought it was an odd fit at the time” he says.

“Yes” she hums at him, smirking again. “Especially as you were then drinking buddies with my husband”

He looks downright chastised at that, though he lightens up a little when he sees she’s not accusing him of anything. “I wouldn’t say we were buddies. Might have hung out at the same holes, now and then” he mutters. He’s not proud of the reminder, nor would he ever want her to think his opinion of her was formed over cheap whiskey at a seedy bar. He had very little to do with Jack Raydor back in the day, which he explain when the man made his surprise appearance not too long ago. Every bad word Andy ever said against her was based on his own run-ins with her job, not some half-pissed gossip swill. And besides, the woman he has come to know far outweighs any long-held first impressions. This woman he adores.

“So if not a cop, then what did you imagine to be a good fit?” she asks, giving him an olive branch.

“I don’t know, probably a lawyer. You did pre-law, didn’t you?”

“I did” she nods, smiling that he would remember that. She had found her undergrad certificate not long ago, laughed at the date, and showed it to him for posterity. Her and Jack had met at USC in the same classes, and she’d never gone further than undergrad, though she has done extensive certificates throughout her job to compensate. “I was accepted to UCLA Law, same as Jack”

He looks genuinely shocked. He had always thought that the police must have been some strange change of heart on her part. To hear that she got as far as admission into such a good law school doesn’t fit with what he knows about her. “Why didn’t you go?”

“I deferred. I had every intention of going, but it was decided-” (He all but flinches at the implication) “- that it would work out best if I was to work while Jack studied, and then Jack set up practice while I studied. We’d just moved in together, and we had no support on the West Coast, except for Jack’s brother, and they didn’t exactly get along” 

“Are you telling me that the deadbeat stopped you?” he asks angrily. She doesn’t bother to correct him, though it annoys her that he gets so angry. Her husband is understandably a sore spot for Andy, and though she appreciates him defending her, there isn’t much his rage can change almost forty years after the fact.

“At the time it seemed the best option. Remembering, of course, the likelihood of me getting a post-graduate position compared to Jack, back in – oh, it must have been, what, ’78? ’77? Something like that”

He nods vaguely at her. He can’t say he’s had any first-hand knowledge of 70’s sexism, but he takes her point that Jack was just simply more employable; the safer bet, as ironic as that may seem. Given the time it makes sense that they would bank more on his future than on hers, and while he’d like to get riled up over that, he remembers what he took for granted as a young man. Even now he knows some deep-rooted sensibilities irk her, so he can only imagine how thirty years have mellowed him.

“And anyway,” she continues, flicking her wrist in that way she does. “I considered that the application of the law would benefit my ability to practice it… we were young and full of ambition and ideas of how life would go, and being in the police force provided a much needed pay check”

He understands that. He can fill in the blanks for himself, what with her children’s ages and knowing how quickly after the second kid her marriage started to disintegrate. She doesn’t need to spell out for him the resulting few years, because he knows all too well that life can just run away, and he often can’t believe that it’s almost nine years since he joined Major Crimes.

“You never considered going back to school, after?” he asks instead, gesturing in a forward motion, indicating many years down the track.

She scoffs at the idea, shaking her head. “I was a single full-time working mother, Andy, there wasn’t the time or opportunity to take however many years off to chase some pipedream. And even once my children were old enough to fend for themselves, well…”

She trails off, and again he understands. A good twenty years’ worth of a solid career is too much to throw away on chance – she is no gambler; she has her husband for that. He already understands her reasons for being in IA all those years, and knows that stability and certainty rule her. Without a steady salary to pay off her mortgage, and a hard earned nest-egg, he thinks she’d be practically neurotic. It’s testament to her hard work and legal prowess that she has as much as she does, and that Jack Raydor cannot get a cent of it.

“And as I said to Rusty, by then I liked my job – I liked applying the law, rather than working in a room full of Jack’s associates. Not to mention the great hours I got in IA – I could be there for my kids growing up, and no career is worth trading that in. The added bonus was that I was actually doing good, no matter how I was despised. My work was important”

He smiles at her, and she smiles back. They look at each other across the desk, and he ponders again about her life, marvelling at her stamina and strength. So many years fending for herself. He had assumed very wrongly in the beginning that she was a spoilt brat from money – some do-gooder who had descended from on high to mingle with the commoners and somehow got stuck in the mud. It never occurred to him that her life would be less than easy; that she had sacrificed and compromised so many times that the hard-as-nails bitch from IA was merely her push-back. If she couldn’t have the life she’d originally wanted, then she would kick arse in the life she got, and with all her boards and committees over the years – things he knows she’s still involved in, if only peripherally – she earned the respect she should have had as a top-tier attorney.

“If it’s any consolation, you make a great cop”

She laughs openly at him as he gestures to her name plaque, her rank shining brightly. “Is that your professional assessment, Lieutenant?”

“Yep”

She giggles at him again and shakes her head.

“But I still say you’d make a great lawyer, though” he says, a glint in his eye. “Your, um, _knowledge_ of the law is pretty remarkable”

“And my ability to manipulate it?”

This time he laughs at her, and nods emphatically, recalling the many times she has twisted and bent the law into submission to get what she wants. It’s fun to watch her stump the professionals, and to see how she can recall the fine-print as if she was reading it yesterday; her memory alone would have seen her through law school, never mind her practical application and interpretation. She may not have the degree, but damned if she isn’t one of the best legal minds he’s seen in this job.

“I’d say we got lucky big time, getting you in to make the deals”

She smiles at him bashfully, thankfully. She likes it when he praises her so honestly, at work or otherwise; not even _her_ ego is impervious to a little boost now and then. She has trained herself never to need it, but it’s appreciated all the same. “What about you?” she asks, grinning at him. “Where else could you be, if given the chance?”

“Jail or dead, probably” he replied with a shrug. He’s so flippant about it all, much like he was recalling his youth to Rusty, but in all honesty that’s close to the truth. “I like to think I could have hacked it as a career criminal, doing the Sons of Anarchy thing, you know? But truth is I’m too much of a liability”

“Too much of a hothead, more like” she says, chuckling. She’s only half kidding. He nods in agreement; no organised gang would have put up with half of his temper or insubordination, especially when he was drinking. He’d have got caught or killed before he hit thirty. Knowing his luck, in this alternate reality she would have been the lawyer to lock him up.

“Seems like the only ones stupid enough to take me in was the other side of the law, so I stuck it out”

She grins at his humour, but her eyes soften. “Don’t sell yourself short, Andy, you’re a terrific cop. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t”

He smiles back at her in thanks, not expecting the compliment but pleased for it all the same. It’s always nice to get praise for a job well done, he figures, even if it is from the boss you’re banging. And she is honest enough to never say something untrue. Sneaky enough to give a half-truth, for sure, but she would never tell him he is a valued team member if he wasn’t so.

She sighs to herself, letting her eyes droop for just half a second as the afternoon sun warms her and makes her sleepy. There’s still some paperwork to do, but nothing that can’t wait five minutes.

“All this talk of what-ifs and maybes” she mutters, smiling at him again.

“You don’t like to dwell?” he guesses.

“Not if I can help it. Dwelling never did anybody any good”

“Too many regrets?”

“It’s not that, really. But… okay, for example, if it wasn’t for Jack, I wouldn’t have my children, who I adore with all my heart. If it wasn’t for joining the police force, I wouldn’t have had the time with them, or the good work I’ve done. I wouldn’t have met you. It’s hard to regret things you might have changed when they bring such wonderful outcomes”

He can’t fault her logic, though he also can’t say he feels the same. He’d trade in his gun and his badge in a heartbeat for the chance to stay out of the bottle and be there for his kids. His marriage would never have lasted he knows, but the damage might not have been so great. He’s not sure if that makes him undeniably selfish, that he would consider giving her up for that; he thinks she might understand it though. She is kind enough to not take that personally, and she is a mother. Maybe she already senses that answer, and hence is not expecting anything from him in response. Maybe it’s something about him she even likes.  

“I’d say what we have is pretty okay” he says instead, smiling at her. She smiles and nods back at him, humming her affirmative. “More than just okay” she mutters.

Were it not the middle of a work day, her blinds wide open, he’d insist on kissing her. But he doesn’t, because despite how long they’ve been together they are still a secret. They aren’t sure who is still fooled, but discretion is paramount. Nothing can jeopardise the status quo, especially in this uncertain time.

Instead he just gives her a loaded look - a promise for later – and takes pleasure in her blush. It’s hard to ruffle her feathers, and he takes it as a personal victory that a simple look from him can do it so effectively. She’s as immune to him and he is to her; he’s thankful for the level playing field.

“Get out of my office and finish your paperwork” she chastises, failing to hide her smile.

“Aye aye, Captain” he says back.

He even throws in a sloppy salute for good measure. It’s any wonder she doesn’t throw a paperclip at him. Or a stapler. He just chuckles to himself as he leaves her office, and ignores the glare he gets from Provenza as he sits back at his desk and finishes off his paperwork. The sooner it’s done, the sooner they all get out of here.

Something tells him he’ll want to be home early tonight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story also counts as my submission for the prompt ‘Internal Affairs’, because I doubt I’ll get back to that subject matter any time soon, and I was inspired by the idea of talking about Sharon’s past.


	6. were pots and pans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "... right now it feels like her equilibrium is being steadied by him"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter for this fic, as we wrap up with season 2 episode tags. No doubt I’ll return to this universe in some form. For this chapter, I figured I hadn’t given you much fluff, but then it turned into flangst (flangst? That’s what I’m calling fluffy angst… does that even make sense? Too bad)
> 
> As always, thank you to my readers, and a heartfelt virtual hug to my reviewers. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think.

 

**were pots and pans…**

They’re entwined on her couch, an old western on the television, a bowl of low-fat microwave popcorn next to them. Neither of them is particularly thrilled by the food – Sharon isn’t all that interested and Andy is craving his butter and salt – but what’s a movie night without popcorn, and it’s a special treat anyway. After today’s sulking and near-breakdown from Rusty, they need all the comfort food they can get, and they need each other for a minute, so here they sit nursing disgusting snacks and a John Wayne film, positively snuggling.

The boy had been churlish over dinner, half kicking himself for failing his training and half terrified of the fallout. The whole evening had been tense, and quiet, and the hum of malcontent had permeated the house. He was quiet and moody in a way that tells her it’s all finally hitting home, just how dangerous this operation is. She knows he’s secretly afraid that he’ll be sent away if he can’t convince SIS that he’s good enough to do this. The encounter with Amy had shaken him; he was twitchy and jumpy right up until Sharon suggested an early night after dinner. He hadn’t even tried to protest. She and Andy had watched him pad down the hallway at record speed, his door closing with a resounding thud.

Sharon is still seriously considering pulling him out of this operation, but Provenza’s point rings in her ears; _he’d want to help_. Sending him away will only betray his trust in both her and himself. He needs to do this, not only for stubborn pride, but to prove that he can; to show he’s not powerless, when so many other things in his life are out of his hands. She has been foolish to treat him like any other child, she knows. He is not the same as her other children - he knows more about the world than any person has a right to, let alone at

his age. But she can’t help herself; she is his mother, and her protective instincts will not be silenced no matter how much he keeps pushing to be a part of his own operation.

So instead she distracts herself in Andy, curling into him. They had started out side-by-side, but after a while he had pulled her legs over his lap so her knees bend over the top of him, and she sits sideways against him. She’ll want to lay back against the arm of the couch in a minute, all cramped up from hunching around him. But for the moment her hand is running lazily through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he absently caresses her legs now and then. She’s loath to disturb the peace, despite the tension in her hip.  

It’s these moments of domesticity that remind her why they are fighting so hard for this relationship, despite the challenges. It’s these simple connections that ground her when everything else seems so frightening and uncertain.

_“Seems like he never learns there's such a thing as a critter that'll just keep comin' on. So we'll find 'em in the end, I promise you. We'll find 'em. Just as sure as the turnin' of the earth.”_

Sharon bumps her head lightly against Andy’s, the dialogue in the film stirring, and yet haunting too. It hits her, somewhere in her subconscious, and leaves a taste in her mouth. She’d always liked this movie, for the same reasons it has endured with film historians; she likes things with depth and complexity. She likes not always having the answers, and being asked questions that make her analyse herself too.

She doesn’t necessarily like those things at this very moment, though.

Andy hums at her a little in question, both still looking at the screen, his hand running over her knee in acknowledgement while his other digs into the popcorn.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine” she hums lowly, her fingers scratching at his hair again.

He turns his head to face her, a light yet concerned look on his face. “You sure?”

She only hums her affirmative, not really wanting to get into it right now. She leans back against the arm of the couch, her legs still draped over his lap, and his hand follows to clasp in hers, resting on her stomach.

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?” he asks, eyeing her sideways.

She smiles at him in absolute endearment, and nods slowly, earnestly. “Of course”

They turn back to the film and watch in silence.

She’s seen it before, and so she spends half of the time watching him instead. His eyes look drawn, and his resting face is more sour than normal. She knows he is clouded with worry for her and Rusty – the boy’s involvement in his protection scares him silly, and the constant police presence at her home, while comforting, is a stark reminder of the danger posed to them. She knows that his frustration only grows, and commends his effort to hide it from her most of the time. If she didn’t know him so well, and hadn’t learned to read him in the time they’ve been together, she would think that everything is okay. Except it’s not, and she can tell.

“I can feel you staring” he says, not taking his eyes from the screen. She smiles humourlessly, and sighs as he turns his head to look at her. “Seriously, Sharon, what’s up?”

“My mind just won’t rest. It’s nothing in particular, just thinking of everything at the moment”

He knocks her knees out to the side and leans over her, then swings his legs up on the couch behind him, and is effectively rested half on top of her, between her hip and the back of the couch. He shuffles up to be level with her and she grins at him, running her hand through his hair.

“You’re going to hurt your back, lying like that” she mutters fondly.

“Jesus woman, give me a break, I’m not that old”

She chuckles at him as he grins down at her, and then hums contentedly when he kisses her.

“Necking on my couch like a couple of kids” she scoffs, rocking her head from side to side at the sheer absurdity of it all.

“Oh baby, that’s not necking, I could show you a thing or two-”

“I am well aware of what you could and could not show me, thank you”

He chuckles at her primness, which is completely negated by the fact he is wrapped over the top of her, his face level with her shoulder. He kisses the juncture of her neck and then rests his cheek against the exposed skin above her teeshirt, positively nuzzling, almost purring at the sensation of her nails running through his hair, her other hand holding tight around his back. If he is heavy she isn’t saying so, and he gets the feeling that the weight of him is somewhat comforting; confirming, when so many other things feel like water running through their fingers.   

“You wanna tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours; get it off your chest? It might help to say it out loud”

“That something you picked up from Robert?” she asks, not unkindly. She knows he’s been seeing a therapist to help sort through the minefield that is his family. Tensions have been easing since the wedding, but he doesn’t want to step a toe out of line, and she understands his need to have an objective third party weigh in.

“No, it’s something I picked up over twenty years ago” he replies pointedly. Her mouth twitches, and she flexes her fingers against his scalp. “Seriously, I want you to know, that if you ever need a shoulder, I’m a very seasoned listener”

She frowns just a little in confusion, not quite able to read his tone, and then nudges his head to make him look her in the eye. She takes his face between her hands, her thumbs against his cheeks, and makes sure he is listening. “Andy…” she starts, seeing the hint of vulnerability written on his face, beneath the demeanour he is trying to project. “Don’t ever think I don’t want to share everything with you. Don’t ever think I don’t want your help and support”

She holds him there and tries to read him, her eyes flicking between his, searching for the recognition of her words and an acknowledgement that he knows what she is saying; that he understands just how much she means it.

“You do believe me, don’t you?” she demands. She doesn’t sound snivelling, she sounds resolute; he doesn’t think she’d be capable of pathetic clinginess, but there is a certain amount of vulnerability in her own look now, and he’s sorry he ever doubted her. He softens a little, reassuring himself that of course she would talk to him before all others. He can trust her explicitly.

“I know that you’ll come to me in your own time” he says instead, running his hand over her side, the other still tucked between her and the couch cushion.

“What does that mean?” she asks, frowning deeper.

“No, Sharon, it’s not a criticism” he soothes. “I understand, really. You’ve gotten so used to dealing with shit on your own – of bottling it up and just pushing on through, relying on yourself” he explains, his hand continuing to trace her side. He doesn’t want her to think it’s a reproach when it is merely an observation. “I’m saying, I understand if sometimes you forget that you’re not in this by yourself. You’re a lone wolf sometimes, and it’s something I admire about you. I’m just letting you know, that if you’re ever looking for someone to vent to, I’m your guy”

She searches his face again, and then instantly relaxes under his touch, nodding almost imperceptibly at his words. “You’re right, I’m sorry” she whispers, self-awareness creeping back in and overcoming her immediate reaction to get defensive. She looks a little bit sheepish. “I thought I was getting better”

“I don’t want you to _get better_ ” he scoffs, almost angrily. “I love you exactly as you are-” She barks a sudden laugh. “No, I’m serious, I do, that’s the truth” She smiles at him and resumes petting his hair. “Your independence is a big part of you, and it’s important to you, I’m just saying that, you know… that… I’m…- God, here I am trying to be the supportive boyfriend-”

She laughs loudly at him – the way he is huffing so spectacularly while making no gesture to move from his position half on top of her, hand still gentle on her side. He grins almost immediately at the sound of her giggles, and roughly plants a kiss on her collarbone in reprimand. He gives her a look, his eyes squinting, and she pulls a face at him. They smile at each other.

“I’m here” he whispers, earnest again, and so very open in his expression.

“Andy… I know” she replies. “I know you are. And I love you so much for that” He smiles at her and shuffles up just a little bit, to bring their faces exactly level, pecking a kiss on her nose before she continues. “You’re right- I am used to taking care of myself. But I know that you’re here, and I know you want to help. If I’m distant I don’t mean to be, and please- please don’t ever think I’m shutting you out” She places a hand on his cheek again, running her eyes over his face. “I just sometimes need to think things through a little”

“I know that” he replies. “And I get it. I’m just saying-”

“I know”

He grins at her, and she smirks back. He is glad that the ripple of discontent between them has been smoothed over. With how touchy the house has been all week, he’d begun to worry that he wasn’t being _there_ enough; wasn’t showing the appropriate level of support without smothering her and Rusty. He’s never been very good at balancing emotions like that. He’s a sort of all-or-nothing kind of guy, and she’s the only person he’s ever really encountered that can temper him. A single touch and he is aware and in control. He wants to be the same for her, and has no idea how to do that.

He leans in a kisses her sweetly, comforting, a promise for later, and then shuffles back down a little to rest his head against her chest, the thump of her heart under his ear. They both angle their heads towards the television to watch the last of the film, her hand threaded in his hair and his body half on top of her, their legs entwined.

He is almost asleep by the time the credits roll. She ruffles his hair and hums his name, and he grunts a little at her in response. She laughs at him, kissing the top of his head.

“Come on, time to go to bed before you fall asleep on top of me. That wouldn’t be good for your back or for mine”

She ushers him, helping him heave himself off her, stiff from lying there so long.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times-”

“Oh, stop grouching you old man” she kids, reaching for his hand to help pull herself up. Her neck is a bit sore from being so cramped up, and her hip rejoices at being free of his weight, but she daren’t say a thing for fear of a comment. Instead she bites the inside of her cheek and fights a smirk as he stretches his arms up and winces a little at a particular kink that pops.

He immediately pulls her to him, and her squeal of surprise is muffled by his sudden and fierce kiss.

“I’ll show you old”

“Oh, please do” she mutters against his lips. She picks up the remote and turns off the television, and they make quick work of the lights and lamps. She’s just turning off the last table lamp on the sideboard when he sneaks his arms around her and kisses the back of her neck. Her eyes slip closed at the intimacy of the gesture – at the softness of his touch despite its obvious heat.

She turns in his arms and kisses him long and slow, their arms around each other. Gently, so as not to disturb them, she starts walking herself backwards in the dark, and he leads them into her room, absently closing the door behind him.

They stand by the foot of her bed, and he cups her jaw in his hands with her arms still around his back. He kisses her, and she hums into him, letting him support them for a moment. He breaks away, and though it’s dark she can make out his eyes, and the questioning look he gives her as he runs his gaze all over her. She silently sighs, and steps into his arms to rest her cheek against his chest and be close to him.

“I’m just so anxious” she whispers, as though it’s a secret.

“I know” he whispers back, his hand threading in her hair and holding her against him. He thinks maybe there’s a safety about the dark – in not having to look at him as she finally confronts her inner turmoil.

“I feel like I’m standing in the open door of a skydiving plane”

He chuckles at the metaphor, but he does understand what she’s saying. “Waiting for the instructor to tell you to jump?”

“Waiting to see if we jump and land safely, or is it better to just not jump at all and land the plane… that sounds convoluted, I’m sorry, but… you know? It’s just…”

“You can’t control this outcome, and it’s driving you nuts”

She laughs at him and nods, her fingers tightening against his back. “Yes. Exactly” She sighs a little and shrugs under his palms. “I just feel so… powerless”

He squeezes her tight, blocking out the smallness of her voice and the shaky quality underneath. Powerlessness and vulnerability are traits he does not associate with her, and though her feelings are of course completely understandable, it’s unsettling to see her so… well, frankly, afraid.

“There is nothing more you could have done in this situation to keep him safe” he assures. “You have done everything right”

She nods against him. “I know” she says, her voice high and reedy. “I know that, I do. If anything, I’ve held back, and it is frustrating Rusty to no end, but I can’t help it. These operations can go wrong with highly trained professionals, and he’s just a boy. A very scared boy, and I’m supposed to protect him, not send him into danger, I’m his… I’m supposed to protect him”

He holds her as she reins in her emotions again, holding her tears back and clearing her throat, refusing to allow herself to cry over this; refusing to lose what little control she has. He hears her self-correction, and really wishes she wouldn’t do that with him. It’s a reflex born of necessity, he knows. Rusty has many mental connotations with his mother that do not apply to Sharon, and understandably wants to delineate them.

Sharon Raydor is his parent, but she is not the mother who allowed him violence, and fear, and then abandoned him twice. Maybe it is word association, but he can’t stand Sharon being called his mother, and though she may feel that way towards him, she does respect that.

He doesn’t know what else to say to comfort her, so he says nothing and instead pulls back just far enough to coax her chin up, and he kisses her. It’s soft, and solid, and safe – things that he figures she needs in this moment more than she needs pithy words of false comfort. She whimpers against his lips, feeling his support and love, and thankful for it. She clutches at his shirt, holding him.

Deliberately, so as not to spook her, he runs his hands over her shoulders and under her house cardigan, coaxing it down her arms. She understands his intentions, and they spend the next few minutes very slowly undressing each other. When they are both naked, he pulls her to the bed, lays her back and runs his hands over her, kissing her neck, her breast, and then her stomach. Her breath hitches, and he reaches for her hand and holds it tight as his lips move lower, his hand coaxing her legs open, and then he kisses her.

She sighs as his tongue darts out and starts working her, getting her wet and firing her nerves. She is too emotionally spent to climax without this, and he knows that, but he also wants to make it all about her, and have her not think for a moment. He wants to wipe her mind – put the worry out of it. And so he is relentless, and uses every trick he knows she loves. He squeezes her hand when she moans just a little too loud, and eventually has to use his free hand to hold her hips steady as she keens and thrusts against him. It’s erotic beyond compare, to have his mouth on her, his eyes raking up between her breasts to watch her face; eyes clenched shut, mouth open and silently panting, one hand clutched in his and the other threaded in his hair.

She comes on a deep sigh – a sharp peak and quick descent – and only when she pulls at him does he climb up her body to seek is own release. He rolls them and pulls her on top; puts her in control. He wants her to drive this, now that he’s delivered on his promise to help her relax. She is happy to oblige. She grins down at him, her eyes still heavy with contentment, and he runs his hands appreciatively over her breasts.

They both know that she won’t climax again soon, and honestly she doesn’t seek it. Instead she guides him inside her and immediately begins rocking at a pace she knows will bring him high very quickly. He holds her hips, and her hands rest on his chest, and they watch each other in the dark. He lets himself enjoy it, and it doesn’t take long before he’s spilling inside her on a muffled groan.

She smiles at him, uses tissues from the bedside table to clean them up, and then promptly curls into his side, tucked in his arms. They lie there and kiss for a very long time, running their hands over naked skin. They are wrapped in each other, the blankets pulled up over them, and for just a heartbeat – in this safe and private place – her worry has melted away.

They fall asleep like that, her head pillowed on the divot of his shoulder, his arms around her, legs entangled. It’s the first night in weeks she doesn’t have horrible dreams. She’d like to feel angry or regretful for that, but they have become so essential to one another, and she cannot deny herself this. She cannot feel sorry for loving him, and maybe one day in the distant future it will break her heart, but right now it feels like her equilibrium is being steadied by him. It’s terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure, and she doesn’t have the emotional fortitude to turn him away in some gesture of pre-emptive self-preservation. She doesn’t have the resolve to stand as an island, alone and independent.

She doesn’t think she ever will.  

She doesn’t feel sorry for that either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The film they are watching at the beginning is the always amazing The Searchers, which if you haven’t seen it, do.


	7. There'd Be No Work For Tinkers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The stress and weight of the last few weeks have finally crashed over her, bearing down now that the imminent threat has passed. Andy is the only thing standing between this shaky feeling and complete meltdown."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter in this story, a tag to the events of episodes 2x18/2x19. The aftermath (and for those who will pick it up, yes I have been rewatching bits of The Newsroom).   
> Many thanks to those who have remained loyal to this on-going saga. It’s been a lengthy process getting this story up, what with life suddenly getting busy. I’m glad you’ve come this far. May season 3 bring more inspiration for this fandom - continue creating! You guys rock.   
> As always, my love to all readers, and a mouldy cookie to all my reviewers.   
> Read, review, and enjoy.

**_There’d Be No Work For Tinkers_ **

She’s shaking, and she can’t stop, and all she can hear is her steady stream of ‘oh god, oh my god’, whispered desperately in his ear. The stress and weight of the last few weeks have finally crashed over her, bearing down now that the imminent threat has passed. Andy is the only thing standing between this shaky feeling and complete meltdown. He is the only thing keeping her afloat while her mind runs over the firefight, the near-death, the dramatic end, but mostly the heartbreaking blow from Rusty that he is still afraid she will abandon him.

The boy is holed up, safe and asleep in his room down the hall, doted on within an inch of his life. He had held her so fiercely in her office that she was afraid he might bruise her; cried into her shoulder so unabashedly that she was both worried and relieved. The truth finally out between them, and instead of crushing his spirit, she held him close and brought him home. She doesn’t care if Rusty is gay, or believes himself to be, or is unnecessarily ashamed of it. She doesn’t care about any of that; certainly her faith has never overruled her heart, and he is her son, and she loves him unconditionally. Not ‘unconditionally, but with caveats’; the full raw deal. Perhaps he needs help to realise that being gay and being a predator are not causal; that he can be brave enough to understand who he is without fear of turning into the thing he hates. She will help him through this, and there are friends in his life that will help him too, and she knows that they will be okay, in the end. They just have to weather this storm first.

He’d sobbed until he had no more tears left, and then she’d looked him in the eye and told him she loved him. He’d held her a little longer, his body heavy with relief, and it had taken all of her resolve not to lose it there in her office; to be the steadfast rock that he needs at this time. Andy had driven them both home, chatting about Provenza’s great marksmanship to try and distract them, and they ordered their favourite pizzas for dinner that went almost untouched, and sat on the couch close by to each other pretending to watch whatever show had been on television, and somewhere in all that she’d left her own emotions for later.  

Andy had understood. He knows her well enough to get why she would do that – had gladly kept up the talking as a pretence for routine while she and Rusty re-learned what it was to be safe, and whole, and normal. While the home settled back around the three of them.

And now she’s having a meltdown of her own and Andy seems rather terrified, but holding her tight nonetheless. In the privacy of her bedroom, half dressed and getting ready for bed, it all became too much; domesticity and simplicity pale in comparison to running for her son’s life. She can still hear the gunshots and the sirens, can still feel his tears on her shoulder, still tingles from his unexpected hugs. Her heart thuds rapidly when she remembers how genuinely terrified he’d been to talk to her, and how desperately his words had stumbled out of his mouth, pleading through an explanation, pushing her away and holding her close in the same breath.

She is so immensely proud of him, and so overwhelmed by their newfound safety, and maybe this was inevitable, this outpouring of all the grief she couldn’t express in the thick of it. This is how she copes and carries on, bottling it up until it’s all over and there are blue skies again. It has always been this way, and Andy remembers her masked panic when he was taken captive, and the ferocity of emotion in the aftermath. Andy knows how this goes.

“What if- oh god, Andy… what if I hadn’t been in time, what if he hadn’t run – and the trial – he’s done –the trial is… if I - oh, what would – I can’t – it’s - …”

He shushes her and holds her tighter. Too many thoughts swirl in her head. His hand is threaded in her hair, the other wrapped protectively around her back. They are sitting on the edge of her bed, a single lamp on behind them, barefoot and shirtless but still with their pants on. She has one hand clutching at his forearm where it crosses her chest, and the other is covering her mouth. A reflexive response more than an effort to hold back, he thinks. She’s been holding so much back.

Maybe he should have pushed her – insisted that she talk to him the way she always pressed him to be open about the situation with Nicole. It’s not the same, he knows, but he wonders if this would be so bad if she’d been allowed to cry in the midst of it all.

Then again, she prefers it this way – he knows she prefers it this way no matter how painful this is – so despite the hopelessness that courses through him, he just holds her as she needs and strokes her hair in a gesture of age-old comfort. It’s all he really can do, at this point. He’s at least glad she isn’t crying into her pillow alone or something; glad he can be this person for her, just as she’s been by his side through all of his crap.

They stay sitting there for a long time. Her chest-heaving sobs calm into something resembling hiccups, and then to sniffles, and then to nothing at all. If it wasn’t for the rhythmic clenching of her fingers against his arm he would think she’d cried herself to sleep.

Slowly he pulls back, stroking her hair, her shoulders, her face, grounding her in his touch. He stands and pulls her to stand with him, intent on undressing her and getting her into bed where she can finally rest. Before his hands can begin undoing her pant button she is leaning into him, cuddling into his chest, taking deep breaths. He wraps his arms around her and kisses her hairline. He has not been immune to what has gone on here – maybe not in the storm itself, but standing in the eye and watching it all around him, knowing it would eventually wreak destruction on him too.

Slowly she pulls away from him to meet his eye. Honestly, she looks awful. Her make-up is splotchy, her eyes red and puffy, her skin damp with tear tracks. He takes the hem of his undershirt and wipes her face, causing her to smile just a little bit – just enough to tell him she’s still in there, underneath all of this. He kisses her, just a touch of lips, to let her know he’s not going anywhere, and then steps back just enough that they can get undressed.

He steps over to the head of the bed and tosses her the ratty old nighty she sometimes still sleeps in, and watches appreciatively as she divests herself of her bra before quickly pulling it over her head, pulling her pants down under the nighty. Her underwear she puts straight in the hamper and her clothes rest neatly over the chair in the corner of her room. He leaves his boxers on and throws on an old tee-shirt he leaves in her bottom draw. These little moments seem incongruous somehow; how can the world continue to spin so easily when life can get so damn hard.

He’s just arranging his top into place when he hears her stomach grumble. Her gaze flies up, her eyes wide as he grins at her, and she finally – blissfully – laughs. She places one hand over her mouth and one on the offending noise, and he chuckles at her and shakes his head.

“I guess I really didn’t have much to eat before, did I?” she asks. Her voice is croaky from all the crying, but at least it’s full of humour.

“One slice does not constitute a proper meal” he says. He doesn’t say she had other things on her mind. She still has those things on her mind. It’s just now she’s thinking of dinner too, and so help him, he’s going to put food in her come hell or high water.

He walks forward and playfully pushes at her back, ushering her towards the door. He opens it for her and everything, but doesn’t protest when she turns right first, padding quietly down to Rusty’s room. His door is ajar tonight, which is surprising. Andy thinks it might be his way of being welcoming. It’s a small gesture, but given he’s prone to locking his door at night time, it’s a significant one.

He watches her smile at the sight inside – the kid probably had his head off the bed, or is drooling in his pillow, or something equally gross that teenage boys do in their sleep. She walks back to Andy and happily slides under his arm when it pulls her to his side. She wraps her arms around his middle and lets him walk her to the kitchen.

“Sorry I dropped my bundle on you” she says sheepishly, more as a gesture than as actual remorse. She is comfortable enough with him to not mind showing him that emotion now, but it’s still not like herself to be so out of control. She hopes she didn’t worry him too badly, and wants him to know that she appreciates his support.

“Hey, it was bound to happen sooner or later” he shrugs with good humour, letting her go just long enough to fish the pizza box out of the fridge. “God knows you’ve picked up my bundle enough times. I figure I owe you”

She just smiles at him and watches as he puts three slices on a plate and puts it in the microwave to heat. There’s still one slice left which he puts on a bread plate, covers with cling wrap and puts in the fridge again. No doubt Rusty will have it for breakfast tomorrow, and she’ll let him.

“A part of me still can’t believe the worst is over, you know?” she says quietly, crossing her arms and leaning her hip against the bench. She’s starring at a spot on the floor, unfocussed, running her new reality over in her mind – the lack of protective detail at the door, the relief from Rusty, the unreal knowledge that their letter writer is now lying on one of Morales’ slabs. She feels in-between – like the first day on a new job but not yet receiving training for it; being thrown in the deep end and feeling totally unprepared. She doesn’t feel the safety she knows she should. She is nervous not having a protective detail outside her house; she is anxious that it might not be resolved.

“I feel like I’ve lost my equilibrium”

“Well, I’ll just have to help you find it” he says lightly, shrugging to himself. She smiles at him, knowing fully what he means.

“I know you will. It might take a bit of time to get my footing, but I know you’re here for me” she says. I know that for the first time in a long time I’m not alone, is what he hears. She’s still shaky, but she can breathe again, and that’s always a good first step.

It’s irrational, she knows. The case played itself out to the dramatic end, culminating in Andy’s wonderful partner proving he still has what it takes. If she’s honest, the fact that Provenza shot the guy right between the eyes is the most outrageous aspect to her day.

“Pity Provenza couldn’t get the guy with a beanbag gun – I could’ve had two trophies in my top draw” he quips, pulling the pizza out of the microwave a few seconds before it dings. He grabs a bread plate to put one of the three pieces on for himself, and slides the other two over to her on the big plate. The reality of his words finally hit her, and she rolls her eyes with good humour.

“Don’t tell me you still have that beanbag lying around” she says with a smirk, picking up the first of the pieces and biting the tip. She uses just her teeth, the cheese hot and melty, and he smirks at her right back.

“Of course I’ve still got it. That was the single most impressive thing I’ve seen in my career – there’s no way they’re taking that beanbag off me”

She laughs at him with her mouth closed, chewing around her smile. That day still brings her good memories. Of course, she really is a crack shot at the range, but honestly she wasn’t lying when she said that day was lucky – the adrenaline of the car chase, the glare of the sun, the immediacy of the moment. It’s any wonder she could fire straight at all, much less right on his forehead. She’s proud of it; she knows it was one of the defining moments that brought the team onto her side. Well, maybe not totally her side, but also not so definitively _the other side_ either, which counts for something.

“You’re impressive” he adds as a rejoinder.  

She gives a mixed look – half playful, half mocking, mostly just grinning around her second bite.

She cocks her head towards the table and they both walk over to sit down. They eat in comfortable silence, Andy finishing his one piece before she finishes her two. He takes the opportunity to watch her as she eats – her shoulders relaxed now, and her eyes weary. They haven’t been sleeping that well, and especially since it got so bad Rusty had to go stay with Provenza. The nights have been restless, and he thanks all Gods that it is Friday and neither of them is on call tomorrow. A sleep-in is exactly what they all need. And maybe a movie day on the couch.

When she finishes he gestures for her to stay sitting while he puts the plates in the dishwasher, and she watches him, her head resting on her palm, her elbow on the table. He can feel her gaze on him, unfocused and only half paying attention, her mind finally finding some semblance of peace. He smiles to himself. He thinks it will be good for her to take some downtime. Then his grin deepens, and he straightens up, a thought in his mind.

She only notices he’s moving when he’s almost level with her, and then in a blink he continues to the living room. She raises her head and watches him round the corner. “Where are you going?”

He doesn’t reply, but within moments a soft jazz number is filtering quietly from her sound system – some greatest hits CD of classic singers that her daughter loves – and he reappears around the corner with a gentle look on his face. If she’s being totally honest, it’s a look of adoration.

“Come here” he says, almost whispering, coming up next to her and taking her hand.

“Andy, what-”

“Just- … come on”

She stands and takes a few paces with him, stopping on the open threshold of the living and dining area. He gently eases her close to him, and then with a step and a sway they are dancing. She huffs a smile at him, closing her eyes and dropping her forehead to his shoulder with uncontained amusement. But she cannot deny that she is overwhelmed by the gesture; that she could cry into his shirt for allowing her this. She can tell that he’s not quite sure what else to do for her – she’s fed, bathed, and safe, and really there’s not much else to do except work through her own head. But this right here – being here with him in this candid moment, just the two of them – she’s never felt more content. Very rarely in life has she understood the idea of one’s soul being at peace; she’s not quite there yet, but rocking in his arms she gets it now. Soon she might even be there herself. 

She can feel his cheek resting against her hair, his nose a few inches from her ear. She imagines his eyes are closed. She pictures him smiling.

“I love you” she mutters. It doesn’t feel nearly enough, but it is honest. He tightens his hold on her just fractionally – brings her just that tiny bit closer. It’s all the response she needs, really. But she’s still feeling a little vulnerable; still not in her own skin. So she takes back her hand and slides her arms up and around his shoulders. He’s just tall enough that she has to slightly stand on tip toe to keep swaying while she grabs her own elbows, locking herself there against him. He snakes his arms around her waist and drops his face to rest at her neck. She thinks he needs this as much as she does, and they stay like that for a few songs, just moving a little to the music as the CD plays through. She feels his lips against her skin; more of a touch than a kiss. She snakes one hand up and into his hair, desperate to feel as much of him as possible; to anchor herself back in reality.

He kisses her neck properly, and then mutters, “I’m so glad you’re safe”

She smiles without humour. “Me too”

His hands run the length of her back, and she sighs into him.

Almost in unison they pull away, just far enough to look at each other. He cups her neck and leans in to kiss her, sweet but desperate. She responds in kind, her eyes clenched shut.

He steps away and flicks the light switch for the kitchen, and she takes the hint, turning off one lamp while he stops the sound system and turns out the other lamp. The condo is suddenly dark, only the lamp left on in her bedroom casting a glow out the door. He takes her hand as they make their way back into the bedroom, and he closes it softly behind him. Regardless of anything else, a closed door means they won’t be disturbed in the morning, and he intends to ensure she sleeps for as long as her body allows her.

She disappears into the bathroom, and he takes her cue and follows her. They brush their teeth side-by-side, looking at each other in the mirror with kind eyes and easy smiles. The fatigue has set into her again, he can see. She looks about ready to just flop into bed.

They walk back into the bedroom, and she sighs as she slides into the side of the bed closer to the bathroom door. He walks around the bed and flicks off the lamp before sliding in the other side. Before he’s sure what’s happening she’s wrapped around him, one leg over his, an arm over his chest, and he’s not sure how his arm went around her, but her head is resting in the crook of his shoulder. She sighs again, her body practically melting against him.

Well, he can certainly live with that.

It’s not the most comfortable sleeping position, having someone laying half on top of him, but just this once he thinks it’s positively necessary. He curls his arms around her and snuggles into his pillow. He can tell that she’s grinning against him; he’s feeling pretty good about it himself.

He can’t help but sneak a look at the window, checking for shadows around the edge of the closed blind; listening for any movement outside. Ridiculous, really, given she’s on the eleventh floor, but that’s how irrational his mind is. He knows she was never in any real danger, and for the most part his worry has been second-hand; a pass-on from their mutual concern for her boy. But she’s still a little bit off – still reeling from being so out of sorts and then suddenly alright. And to be honest, so is he.

It’s not fair, he thinks, that she’s endures so much for the sake of her love for that boy, and it speaks to her character that she takes it all with a smile. There is now little doubt in any of their minds that Rusty is, for all intents and purposes, her child. And if he’s being totally truthful with himself – something he doesn’t allow too often for fear it will ruin things – he considers them his family too. He wasn’t there for his children growing up; didn’t see many school concerts, art shows or primary school graduation. He regrets not experiencing the little moments the first time around – the fights over who will supervise driving, or the agreements over cooking and washing duties; the morning rush to be bathed, fed and clothed for school. He still sometimes feels like the interloper here in their little routines, but he enjoys watching them all the same.

He thinks, with time, they will become a dysfunctional little family of their own – individual pieces fitting together in the most unlikely of ways, with a unique harmony to it all. There’s a word for it, he can’t quite remember; more than the sum of its parts. He lets himself feel the weight of Sharon’s arm around him; hears Rusty cough in his sleep through the walls. This feeling within him is much more than simply three people under the same roof. This is home.

He intends to stay at home for as long as they will have him. Maybe one day they will even make it permanent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note:   
> So in my crazy quest to find a song that would serve for this scene, I accidentally compiled a playlist. Any of these songs could work really, and let’s face it, if you don’t have any of these songs you should get on that. These are just a few that were most played on my computer, so obviously there are numerous others you might bring to mind.  
> Get Happy/ Happy Days – Judy Garland & Barbara Streisand, Dream a Little Dream of Me – Louis Armstrong, All of Me – Billie Holiday, My Dearest Darling – Etta James, Cheek to Cheek – Ella Fitzgerald, Witchcraft – Frank Sinatra, They Can’t Take That Away From Me – Ella Fitzgerald, (Stranded – Van Morrison).  
> And with that, I say adieu and much love to you all. Let me know how I went, and keep an eye open for any addendums or tags to this universe. You’ve all been wonderful. Stay shiny.


End file.
